


Life's a Bitch (And Then You Die)

by Zighana



Category: Insecure (TV), On My Block (TV)
Genre: AU, Crossover, F/M, Gang Violence, Issa is growing, Older Woman/Younger Man, Possible Mommy Issues, Savior Complex, Self-Growth, Summer, cultural clashes, future smut, gentrification
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2019-07-10 01:58:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 42,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15939422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zighana/pseuds/Zighana
Summary: Issa has an encounter with Spooky and shit gets weird. Really weird. Like "a gangbanger breaking into her new apartment to sleep on the bouch" weird.





	1. Hella Fucked (When Being a Hoe Goes Wrong)

Spring

Issa paces back and forth, her phone's empty notifications making her anxious.

Her Tinder hook-up is on his way, but it doesn't fix the butterflies in her stomach. 

She knows this hoe-phase she initiated isn't the brightest idea but she can't sit at the house all day everyday eating her feelings. Lawrence doesn't want her and she should just move on, even if it means having sex with people she's going to ghost the second she kicks them out of her apartment...

Shit.

The apartments are slowly getting bleached out of black neighbors; the new white couple moving in is a little too nosy for her tastes and files a complaint every minute. Will the cops come knocking on the door when her dick appointment comes knocking? 

She eyes the Tinder profile. 

It's some Freeridge native that got a tattoo underneath his eye and looks like he wears shades indoors. His name says "Spooky" but other than that there's nothing about him she could go on. He's got no bio, very few pics (The ones that are posted look grainy and if she squints she swears one of the photos look like it was taken in a prison), and the conversation she had with him is almost all in one-word sentences. At least he's cute?

She really got to stop thinking with her clit. 

As if on cue, she hears a knock at the door and jolts.

Okay, Issa...teeth brushed? Check. Lacy black thong and bra? Check. Hair moisturized and bonnet ready? Check. Condoms? Check. Burn mark in the ceiling she has yet to paint over? Check but she'll make sure he won't be able to see. All she need is the mirror rap to get her through this...

The knocking repeats, this time with extra boom. 

"Coming!" She says. 

She peeps through the peephole and it's "Spooky", staring right through her like he knows she's right there.

Okay...kind of creepy. 

She opens the door.

"Hey." She greets him. 

"Hey. Issa, right?" He replies.

"Yeah. If it wasn't it would be awkward!" She tries to laugh, but his stern look makes the laughter die in her throat.

Maybe his type isn't the joking type?

"Come in," she gestures, closing the door behind him. 

He sits on the couch, eyeing her up and down. 

"You want some wine?" Issa offers, trying to ignore his eyes. 

Silence.

"Umm...I'll go get some wine." She makes her way to the kitchen, rummaging through her fridge.

Okay...maybe there's still some left. Tiffany left behind a bottle if Kelli didn't drink it all...

There's a presence.

Hairs on the back of Issa's neck stood straight up.

There's a moment in a horror movie where the killer is right behind the victim and you scream for the victim to please, _for fuck's sake_ , turn around...

Issa is not one of those people.

Instead, her body is frozen, clutching an empty Louisiana hot sauce bottle like her life depends on it.

So...this is how she dies...being murdered in her own goddamn apartment by a complete stranger because she was horny and lonely. Almost like a game of clue but she doesn't know which murder weapon he's going to pick. She envisions her funeral: her grieving mother sobbing into her judgmental brother's shoulder as he stares disdainfully at her in the casket. Molly mops her tears with Lawrence's handkerchief, asking God why oh _why_ did Issa have to be dumb enough to invite a complete stranger to her apartment.

_"Why, lord? Why couldn't she hoe smartly?"_ Molly shouts to the skies as the the church organists play the same tired tune of " _Swing Low, Sweet Chariot_ " like Issa died a saint and not some broken woman trying to cure her pain with temporary dick...

_"That's not a wine bottle."_

Issa jerks so hard her head bangs into the refrigerator surface with a loud clang, the bottle dropping out of her hand and shattering on impact when it hit the floor.

Within seconds, the smell of vanilla and sandalwood is overpowered by vinegar and fermented cayenne pepper; Issa, nursing her head, turns to face Spooky, who's deadpan face hasn't changed a fraction. 

"How long have you been standing there?" she asks.

"Five minutes." he answers.

He needs a cowbell around his neck. 

"You want me to grab you some ice?" He offers. Issa wants to tell him no; there's no ice in the freezer and she'll be damned before he sees a frozen bag of vegetables that she bought two years ago but never got around to throwing away. 

Without permission, he pushes Issa to the side and opens the freezer. After a few minutes, he pulls out the long-expired bag of vegetables; Issa squints and she remembers it was the cheddar and broccoli she got from Whole Foods when she and Lawrence were on that health kick...

Before she could reminisce on the past, she feels that refreshing cool applied to her head. Spooky stares at her again, those eyes that once stared into her soul have a softer touch.

"You good?" he asks. 

All she could do was nod.

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips while he applies pressure.

Not going to lie, that feels good...

His lips touch hers so soft she couldn't believe it was happening. He kisses her again, deepening it when his hand thumbs her cheek. His lips move against hers with quiet smacks and it ends with his tongue mingling with hers. 

She moans into the kiss, not caring that her body is picked up to sit on the island counter, the wine glasses she initially planned to use clattered into the sink. Spooky ducks his head to suck on her neck, his hands snaking underneath her crop top to massage her breasts. She gasps at his cold hands but rolls with it, enjoying the new sensations as those hands pinch and tweak her nipples before flicking them back and forth. 

"Oh, shit!" She sighs out. 

She lifts her arms up and he slides the crop top off of her, exposing her lacy bralette that Spooky unhooks with one hand.

In seconds, she's nude from the waist up, sighing as those cold hands are replaced with a hot tongue when he latches onto her breasts to suckle. 

Fuck he's good.

She lies over the island counter, her black lace panties being tugged off by his teeth and in seconds, her moans get caught in her throat when he laps against her pussy. He wraps her legs around his shoulders and buries his face even deeper inside, his tongue searching and tasting everything Issa has to offer. His fingers join in, pumping her in time with the alternating strokes his tongue makes.

This is happening so fast; she can't keep up.

"Ah...Ah, fuck. Oh, shit!" Issa pants out as she cums on Spooky's patient tongue. He pulls away with a look Issa can't describe. 

Silence. 

Issa catches her breath and fights the urge to talk. 

"That was fun." She blurts out. 

Silence.

"Do you ever talk?" Issa asks. Spooky wipes her cum off his chin and licks it off his finger.

"There's a lot that doesn't need to be said." he answers.

"Do you need me to...?" Issa starts off. 

He chuckles, stroking her inner thighs.

A phone rings and what was once a calm and mellow Spooky turned into a stern one. 

He digs into his pocket and fishes out the phone.

"Where can I take this?" He asks her.

"Bathroom." She says. 

He's gone, leaving Issa naked on her counter, wondering what happens next.

~~~

Summer

Issa taps her phone.

Five stars and a tip.

It's going to be a good day. 

Her full-time job as a Lyft driver has been booming; the summer heat has people opting to be driven around instead of walking. She gave rides to people from all walks of life, with Thug Yoda being a regular. 

"Brenshaw Mall?" She asks. Thug Yoda is with his daughter, who's reading a children's story that she knows has all the C's crossed out and replaced with B's. 

"Actually, take me down to Freeridge. I got some folks that got the good _bush_."

" _Kush_ starts with a K."

"I said what I said." Thug Yoda counters. 

Mentally rolling her eyes, she starts driving.

Pulling up to the destination, Issa eyes Thug Yoda's daughter with a look of pity as she grabs her red backpack and holds on to her father's hand as he opens the door. To Issa's right she sees a group of men sitting outside, drinking and smoking, wearing variants of white T's and wife-beaters. They see Thug Yoda and they all crowd around him hugging him and giving him fist bumps. His little girl is being bounced on someone's hip, someone familiar...

The man turns his head and Issa's breath catches in her throat.

It's Spooky.

Fuck.

Issa locks her car doors, turns on the ignition, and speeds out of the neighborhood like a bat out of hell.


	2. Hella Awkward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Issa is caught in an awkward situation when Spooky comes to her apartment complex.

"Okay, so...walk me through what the fuck happened."

"Bitch, I told you! I dropped off Thug Yoda, and I saw Spooky."

" _Him_?"

"Yes, girl! I know that was him because he always look-" Issa makes a stern face.

Molly cringes.

"You look constipated. He looks more-" She makes a face.

"You just look like you saw someone walk in the club with the same outfit you got on." 

"Close enough." Molly retorts. Peeking her head out to see if her associates were around, she eyes Issa.

"Okay, Issa. I love you and all, but girl the pressure is on. My colleagues did me hella shady and all eyes are on me. I can't keep having you coming to my job to spill your issues of the Ghosts of Dick's Past." 

"Come on, Molly! What if he saw me? What if we bump into each other again?" 

"Girl you tripping." 

"No, I'm not. I thought I was never gonna see Lawrence again, and boom! At Beychella, there he was. And I was looking _extra_ bummy."

"You did not look extra bummy."

"Girl, I had my hair wrapped up and I was wearing pajamas. My hair was _not_ done."

Molly sucks in a breath.

"Look, all I'm saying is the second you look your absolute worst, here come the dudes in your past that wanna pop up. It always happens!"

"So, look your best everyday."

"Bitch, it's not that simple!" 

"Iss. Can we continue this later? I got the partners up my ass over this case and I need to stay focused. I love you. Bye." Molly thinly smiles at her, typing rapidly at her computer.

"Fine. I'll see you later, girl."

~~~

Issa lies on her bed, staring at her heavily-packaged vanity mirror.

"Well, mirror bitch," She says to it, "What you gon' do?"

**Monday** :  
Issa struts around the apartment complex in the finest body-con dress and pumps. She barely made one step down the street until she stepped in dog shit.

"Fuck!"

**Tuesday** :

Sensible heels, crop top and high-waisted pants that accentuate her curves. She goes to the grocery door when she notices the little bad ass kid from her apartment pick his nose and look at her.

"Mama asks why you dress like a thot. Where that light-skin man at? He ain't touching your booty enough?"

She chucks the carton of milk back in the fridge and storms off.

**Wednesday** :

Sneakers, cotton kimono and a cute crop-top with Frank Ocean's smiling face and shorts. She got her purse slung over her shoulder and poses for Instagram. 

One comment.

It's her brother.

_"Girl that whole outfit ugly as hell. Burn that shit!"_

Laughing emoji.

Tiffany liked the comment.

"This why yo ass couldn't read till you were twelve." She says to her phone.

**Thursday** :

Blue jeans, a white t-shirt, and her favorite Converse's that desperately needs to be washed. Her hair is braided into two buns and her lip gloss has a slight berry tint. Her cardigan is stuffed into her shopping bag. 

Two Lyft riders hobble into her car, drunk and belching. Before they could even get a word in she hands them a shopping bag, but not before-

"Wait-wait-FUCK!"

Her cardigan will _never_ get clean.

**Friday** :

Issa is in her bathrobe, dirty t-shirt and pajama bottoms that got a hole where her thighs meet, crouching low and spraying the dog shit down the drain, her house slippers soaked. The neighbor that "doesn't have a dog" is watching her do this with a bowl of cereal, and if looks could kill, he'd be dead right now. 

The last turd falls down the drain and she wipes her brow with her forearm. 

"Okay, anything else?" She turns to face her tenant, but he's already gone, the barking "non-dog" silenced with the close of the door.

"One of these days he's getting cussed the fuck out over this." she mutters.

She sprays the concrete down some more before retiring the hose and retreating back into her apartment.

Tossing her keys on the glass counter, she slinks off her clothes and steps in the shower while the water is still hot. 

"Okay, I need to fix the leaky ceiling in apartment twelve, call an exterminator for apartment fifty-eight, clean the pool, collect rent..." she lists off. 

Removing the shower head, she rinses off the soap, drifting down below her belly.

Spooky's face buried between her legs flashes through her mind. The shower head still lingers, teasing her.

_"So...what now?" Issa asks when Spooky leaves the bathroom._

_"We finished what we started." He replies._

The water pressure is massaging her clit. She closes her eyes and rests her head against the tile.

_"You got a..."_

_Spooky plucks a condom from his back pocket and places it on the counter. Grabbing her hand, he puts her hand on his dick that's straining against his pants in a satisfying bulge._

_Unzipping his pants and pulling down his boxers, he strokes his dick with her hand, intaking a sharp breath._

_"You like that?" he breathes out._

_Fuck_ this shower head feels amazing.

A sharp rapping on her front door makes her jump. 

Ignore it, Issa. If it's really important they'll come back later...

The rapping becomes pounding.

Goddamn it.

Turning it off, she grabs a towel and leaves the shower, frustrated in more ways than one.

"Coming! Just a second!" She hollers at the door, snatching a robe off the floor and throwing it on.

Opening the door, she sees an angry tenant with her arms crossed. 

"Can I help you?" Issa asks.

Through tight lips, the tenant says, "I have a party three doors down from me and they're too. Loud."

"I don't...hear anyth-"

"They're on the other side of the apartment complex and they are blasting super loud music, smoking weed, and drinking. I got two kids. Two. Who are trying to do their homework and they're asking me if they're going to be like..." The tenant closes her eyes tightly, " _Those hoodlums_ when they get older. Go over there and tell them to keep it down."

"Umm...okay, I'll...let me throw something on-"

_"Now._ "

"Okay. I guess I'll walk...all the way across the apartment complex wearing nothing but a bathrobe and some slippers. Sure." Issa smiles thinly at her, hoping she'd catch the passive-aggressive hint.

She doesn't.

She makes it to the apartments her tenant guided her to and knocks the door, feeling all types of exposed being at the mercy of a thin silk robe and the wind. She sees the culprits, posted up by apartment fifty-five, drinking, smoking, and looking at her like she's a piece of meat.

She feels _extra_ naked.

"Hi, I'm Issa...I'm the property manager of this building?" She greets.

Silence.

"I've gotten noise complaints about..."

"Who the fuck snitched?" One of the party-goers demand, clutching his liquor in a vice grip.

"Umm...I don't think it matters...who snitched...just, umm...keep it down-"

"Ay!" one of them shouted into the door. 

"Tell Smokey he got to keep it down! The super here!"

Issa sucks in a sharp breath. Three people come out, two of which she hasn't seen before but one of them makes her voice catch in her throat.

There, in the flesh, wearing a baggy t-shirt and shades, is Spooky. 

He's smoking a blunt, eyes scanning over her frame with the quirk of an eyebrow. 

Does he remember her? 

"What's the problem?" One of the three, whom Issa assumes is Smokey, asks.

"Well, we've gotten a few noise complaints about the party you're having and I'm just asking if you could keep it down. Some of the tenants have kids that got to go to school in the morning and you're keeping them up."

"It wouldn't be that _bitch_ Tanisha in fifty-fo'? Tanisha, you hatin' ass BITCH." He hollers out to the apartment across from his. 

The second-hand embarrassment is not lost on Issa.

"Sir, if you could just...lower the noise, it'd be much appreciated. Please." Issa says. 

Tension was so thick you could slice it. Smokey eyes her up and down and retreats into the home. 

Issa eyes Spooky. He's looking into the house.

Maybe he doesn't remember her.

In a matter of minutes, the blaring rap music is lowered significantly. Issa lets out a breath she didn't know she's holding. 

"Thank you so much." She tells Smokey who comes back. He grunts in response. He and the men retreat into the apartment and slams the door shut, leaving Issa and Spooky, who's leaning sitting on the chair digging for a lighter. 

She stands, crossing her arms. 

He has to remember her. There's no way a night like that could...

"You should get going home. It's getting dark and it's starting to get cold." Spooky says. He's twirling the lighter in his hand, not making eye contact.

"Do you...remember me?" Issa asks. Spooky stops and looks at her, a smirk etched on his face.

"Okay, I think that's a...yes." She adds, tucking herself further into her robe. 

"No use in doing that. Ain't nothing I ain't seen before." He says. He pockets the lighter and leans back in his chair. 

"It's a small world out here. I never thought I'd see you again. Not that that's a bad thing. I actually had...a good time." She chuckles out. 

"'Course you did. You came in my mouth."

"Why you being all loud?" Issa hisses out, shielding her face from invisible onlookers. 

"Why you being all awkward? It did happen. Let's cut the shit. I fucked you on your kitchen counter and you wanna see if I forgot about it? Right?"

_Yes_.

"No. I-"

"Stop. I didn't forget. We wanted a little release, we got it, and we move on."

"..."

"We move on. Okay?"

"Right. I guess I'll be going home, now-"

"I'm walking you to your door."

"No, really, thank you but-"

" _I'm walking you to your door._ "

Issa's mouth twists in defiance but drops it. Spooky is already walking towards her, throwing his arm around her and pulling her close to him. 

"Why are you walking me to my door? It's three in the afternoon."

"A man always walks a lady to her door. No matter the time of day."

"Who taught you that."

"The original veteranos."

Issa doesn't bother asking any further questions. 

They made it to her door. Issa is fishing for her keys while Spooky leans against the door frame. When she plucks them out she smiles at him.

"Thanks for walking me to the door." She says. Spooky takes off his shades and looks her up and down once more, his expression a mix of emotions she can't place. 

"I guess I'll..." She starts, but she enters her apartment and closes the door with a soft click. 

She peeks through her peephole and sees he's already gone.

She collapses to the floor in a sigh. 

She's got to quit fucking locals.


	3. Hella Wet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Issa has an encounter with Spooky that ends with him breaking into her house.

Ever since that encounter, Issa has been keeping mental notes on Spooky's appearance at her apartment complex. Call her paranoid, but she's been seeing more of him since that day.

The sightings aren't remarkable; he'd be at the front door of Smokey's apartment, or walking along the poolside once it got too windy and it got dark. When she sees him, he doesn't see her; he's oblivious that he's being spotted, or maybe he knows he's being watched but doesn't care. He knows she's not much of a threat. 

However, there was one sighting that left her particularly shook.

It was a few days ago.

Issa was cleaning the pool gutters when she hears him. 

He's pacing back and forth, talking into a phone in quiet tones but she knows he's pissed from the tightening of his body. It's hot; he's wearing a tank top that clings to his body in sweat and she sees every muscle constricting and relaxing with every stride. His eerily quiet English turns into eerily quiet rapid Spanish and she's looking onward with a look of confusion and terror. When he hangs up and looks at her, she'd notice she'd been clutching the empty and soggy pack of Newports in her hand for five minutes. 

The air was so thick you could slice it with a knife; the two are stuck in a staring contest. Spooky quirks his trademark brow, daring her to say something.

"Pool gutters, right?" Issa blurts out, then closes her eyes tightly. Goddamn it.

He walks over to her in long strides and crouches down beside her. She could smell the freshly washed clothes and tobacco on him. 

"Are you always like this?" He asks. 

"Like what?" She replies.

"Awkward."

"I...I just-"

"Stop." He says before sighing. He sits beside her, digging into his pocket to pull out a smoke and a lighter. He offers her one but she declines. 

The two sit in silence, staring out into the unnaturally blue pool, Issa focuses on a floating Snickers rapper that's making its rounds.

"You never hit me up." He says.

"I've been busy. With work." She replies.

"I've seen you seeing me around this complex and you don't make a move."

"I didn't want to make shit weird."

He nods his head in response. 

"I ate you out on the kitchen counter. There's nothing that can be weird between us."

"That was Tinder. Now seeing you around makes me feel weird. Like, I can't see you knowing your face was once tongue deep in my pussy."

He laughs. It's not a snarky laugh, but a genuine one. He smiles, his face calm and relaxed. 

His hands reach out to cup Issa's face.

"What are you-"

"Don't think about it." He interrupts. He claims her lips after, the softness in his lips still there. Issa moans into the kiss, wrapping her hands around the back of his head as his body is pinning hers to the ground, not caring that her bonnet is misplaced. Her legs are wrapped around his hips when he's sucking on her neck and stops. He pulls away from her and stands up, running his fingers over his shaved head and inhaling sharply. 

"What's wrong?" Issa asks. She zeroes in on his dick straining against his jean shorts and feels victorious.

"We can't do this here. Not now." He says. 

"There's my apartment we could go to." Issa offers. 

His eyebrow perks up, a light-bulb going off in his head.

"I'll see you later on tonight." He says. He gives a slight smirk before turning on his heel and leaving the pool.

~~~~

 

It's two in the morning. 

Normally this should be the time she'd be asleep but instead she lies awake, fishing into her box of Raisin-Nets and tossing them into her mouth. 

She'd gotten a Lyft ride request this time around; someone probably too drunk to drive home from the bar. She's supposed to get up in five minutes; she'd already accepted the ride. 

"Okay, Issa." She tells herself. 

She slides out of bed and grabs her keys and after a quick teeth brushing and face washing she's already out the door.

The drive to pick up her ride was tense; she's seeing the old Popeye's turn into some vegan restaurant that has _kale-wrapped burritos_ as a specialty. She cringes. She pulls up to a bar that has a drunk white girl shouting obscenities at a confused group of black clubgoers.

Please, God, don't let that drunk bitch be her...

"Hey! Heeeyyyyyy!" The drunk girl slurs, waving her hands emphatically at Issa's car.

Goddammit.

"Hey, girl! Welcome to the party Lyft, which for you is going to be the _Turn Down_ Lyft, since you're all...partied out." She greets the girl. The girl stumbles in and collapses in the backseat. 

"Oh...kay. You want me to just...drop you off at the front door or...is someone going to be waiting-" 

A loud snore is her response.

"Okay, Issa. At lease she didn't vomit into your backseat." She mutters to herself. 

She makes it to the drunk girl's destination; a college campus that clearly has America's future rapists/politicians out and about. It's like they can sniff out prey the way they eye Issa's car and Issa as she opens the backseat and drag the girl out of the car. 

The girl is too drunk to walk to her dorm; she's going to have to get some information out of her before dropping her off here. 

"Hey," Issa says to the girl, tapping her.

"What dorm are you in?"

"Th'onnne wih the so'or'idyy." The girl slurs out.

"Which sorority?"

The girl tries to form a coherent sentence but fails. Goddammit. 

She manages to find a sorority (and she kicks herself for learning it's the only sorority on campus) and drops her off there after a constant reassurance that the drunk girl is in safe hands. 

She comes home, tosses her keys on the coat rack and tries to flop on the couch, but hits something that makes her scream.

A body. She collapsed on a _body_.

She scrambles to turn on the light, the body moving upright and walking towards her. 

Oh, god...where's the fucking light switch or a weapon? 

Her hands grabs the wooden bat she kept by the door for protection and swings. The body jumps back, hands held up defensively.

"Who the fuck are you and why are you in my house?" She screeches, swinging the bat...and the bat slipping out of her hands and clattering against the cheap bookshelf, that collapses on impact. A sea of books and records wash over her once pristine floor and she adds 'pissed' to her range of emotions at the moment.

Fuck Ikea.

"Turn on the light, Issa." 

"Nigga, you know my name? WHO THE FUCK-"

"Just turn on the fucking light." The voice interrupts. That voice...

Her fingers finally find the switch and she flicks it.

There, clad in plaid pajama pants and nothing else, is Spooky.

"How the _fuck_ did you get in my house?"

"Key under the welcome mat." He says. 

"It's better me than someone else. If I was a burglar you'd be fucked. You make it almost too easy."

He's in her face, now. She can smell her coconut body wash as well as her cocoa butter and almost caves in. 

Goddamn, he smells good. 

"I didn't forget what happened on the pool." He breathes against her neck. 

"Told you I'd see you later on tonight." 

Before she could reply, he claims her mouth, sliding his tongue inside. 

He tastes like tobacco and toothpaste.

How long has he been in her house?

It doesn't matter, now; they're making out and slamming against walls and furniture before they make it to her bedroom. He throws her on the bed, straddling her with her legs on each shoulder.

She'd just realized her panties are missing.

Her voice catches in her throat when he's lapping at her pussy, his growls and hums making her legs shake.

"Fuck! Oh, Fuck!" She pants out. Her hands are digging into his shoulders when she cums, bucking against his face.

She catches her breath while Spooky licks her cum off his fingers.

He lies on his back, dick standing in a salute for her.

"Come on," He breathes out.

"Take it."

She eases herself on his dick and she bounces, the sensations causing waves of pleasure through her body. She clings to his shoulders like a lifeline while her hips rock and slam against his in sloppy strokes. She leans back, giving him a whole view of her body before riding him with her head tilted back.

She doesn't know if she's doing anything but she saw it in a porn once. Close enough. 

"Fuck." Spooky growls. He grabs her ass and thrusts against her, hitting that spot that makes her scream. 

He flips her over on to her stomach and slides inside, pulling her hair and biting into her neck. 

Their moans and pants are so loud they echo; Issa is biting into the pillow when he's hitting those spots perfectly.

In a matter of minutes, she cums with a strangled moan and she collapses into the pillow, Spooky not too far behind. He slides out and lies next to her. He catches his breath and snatches the box of cigarettes that are on Issa's nightstand and lights up.

"Put it out," Issa says after gaining her breath.

He snorts, exhaling the smoke and snubbing the cigarette out against the wall.

~~~

The morning after feels...hollow. 

Issa wakes up to an empty bed. She thought she'd dreamed the night before until she saw her panties hanging off a lamp and an empty condom wrapper stuck to her foot when she climbed out of bed. Chalking it up as a good time, she takes a shower and admires the glow she'd received the night before. 

Before she starts her day taking on new tenants, she sees a note on the front door.

_Went to grab breakfast for us. Had a great night. Need more nights like that one. Spooky._

Against her better judgment, she smiles.

Hope he's bringing waffles.


	4. Hella Hungry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Issa has breakfast with Spooky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be smut. This chapter is literally smut and has mentions of an underage boy being with an older woman. You've been warned.

Spooky comes back to her apartment an hour later.

He hands her a take-out box and a plastic fork and takes residence at the kitchen table, Issa following suit.

"What'd you get?" She asks.

"Breakfast Special of the Week at the diner downtown." He answers.

"Got any drinks?"

"I grabbed some iced teas from the liquor store. I'm not spending $1.85 on some tiny ass carton of orange juice." 

He digs into his bag and pulls out the two bottles and tosses one her way.

They eat in silence, both swapping glances at one another but neither making the move to talk. Eventually, Issa cuts the silence.

"So...are we going to talk about last night?"

"What's there to talk about?"

"You can't just...break into people's houses, give them good dick, and leave."

He smirks.

"I see you."

"What...does that mean...?"

"Tell me what you want."

"Niggas not breaking into my house?"

He nods his head.

"What else?"

"I want to know what your intentions are. I'm getting older and I don't have time to second-guess things. I've done that enough in my 20's."

"20's?" Spooky eyes her, eyebrow raised.

"How old are you?" He asks. 

"I just turned...30." She says. 

"How old are you?"

"25." He says, showing all of his teeth. 

He's got a beautiful smile. 

"Oh, my god. I thought you were my age." Issa runs her fingers through her hair, grabbing it. 

"Prison'll do that to you. Adds extra years." Spooky says. He slices through his breakfast and eats a waffle, completely oblivious to Issa having a meltdown over dating someone five years her junior. 

She's a cougar. 

No...a cradle robber. 

Fuck...is she breaking the law, here?

"You not my first older woman," Spooky's nonchalant tone cuts through her line of thoughts, "Mrs. Johnson. Junior High. Taught me everything I know."

His grin widens. 

He's smiling over the fact a grown ass woman took advantage of him? Guilt, shock, and a touch of shame hits Issa like a tidal wave. She's in the same group as Mrs. Johnson...

_Mrs. Johnson needs to be put on Dateline, with her ol' predatory ass. Bet her pussy smells like Ben-Gay, the fucking pervert..._

**_"On this episode_ To Catch a Predator _, I'm your host, Issa Dee. And together we're confronting a predator who's seen talking to an eighth grader." Issa says to the camera. She's dressed like a reporter, microphone in hand._**

****

****

_**She's in a kitchen, now. Junior High-aged Spooky is leaving the kitchen, calling out to the door.**_

_**_"Make yourself comfortable, I'm going to be in the shower!"_ he says.**_

_**As if on cue, Issa sees an older woman, racially ambiguous (because a name like Mrs. Johnson is always racially ambiguous), wearing the 'I'm a child molester' starter pack, walks in all... _perverted-like_**. _

_**Mrs. Johnson sees Issa and immediately looks shook.**_

_**"Have a seat," Issa says, patting the chair beside her.**_

_**"I-I-I....he said he was eighteen!" Mrs. Johnson says, before sprinting off out the door.**_

_**"We got a runner!" Issa hollers out to security.**_

**_Mrs. Johnson is tackled and handcuffed. Issa clicks her tongue to the camera. ****_**

********

********

**_"There's always one." She says._ **

_"Issa."_

She's back to reality. Spooky is looking at her with a mix of confusion and intrigue.

"You heard what I said?"

"Yes...no. No I didn't." Issa confesses.

"I'm saying we both grown. It doesn't have to be weird. It's only five years where it counts."

"It'll...take some getting used to."

"It's...not that serious-"

"-Like, I was in a completely different headspace when I was 25."

"Trust me, you're over-thinking..."

"...I was in a relationship with someone I thought I was going to wind up marrying." 

Spooky halts. His calm expression slips into a stone-faced one. Issa sees this and she knows she should shut the fuck up right now but the words are tumbling out of her mouth and she can't stop it.

"We dated...for five years. We lived together. When I was 25, I was ready to settle down with someone like my ex and then, it didn't work out and it was completely my fault."

"What did you do?"

"I cheated. I'm not going to justify it, he broke up with me, which I deserve." She looks into her iced tea. 

"He wasn't perfect and at that time he wasn't being the partner I needed and I wasn't being the partner he needed. Our relationship was... _falling apart_ , and neither of us wanted to make an effort to fix it until it was too late."

Spooky grabs her hand.

"Thanks for keeping it real with me. I respect that." He says. 

He's not going to call her a hoe? Not going to call her all types of thots and do shit toxic straight men do to prove their manhood?

"What now?" Issa asks. 

"All up to you. I'm down for whatever you want this to be." 

"I...don't know." 

"We could do that too." He takes her hand and kisses it.

"We just...go with what feels good 'till we find something that works." 

"What about you? What do you want out of this?" Issa asks. 

Spooky shrugs his shoulders.

"I don't know, honestly. I mean, you're cute. You're funny. The sex is good." Spooky digs in his pocket and plants a cigarette in his mouth. He reaches for his lighter but Issa shakes her head. He chucks his unlit cigarette across the table with a sigh. 

"I'm down for whatever, basically."

"You sure?" She asks, walking towards him and straddling his hips. It'd be sexy if the table corner isn't digging into her back and her barely existing ass is being stuck with Spooky's... _oh_.

He grabs her ass, kneading it as best he could. He's grinding against her, his dick rubbing against her clit with every wind of his hips. Fuck that feels good. Issa winds back to alleviate the pressure. Spooky slides up her shirt to claim one of her nipples and suckles, his tongue flicking against the nipple. They rock against one another for a while, Issa so close to an orgasm she could taste it. 

Starting the morning right with a little breakfast and dry-humping like Freshman Year of college.

History really does repeat itself.

He, after making a glossy and erect mess of her breasts, looks up at her with an expression that tells Issa, _"I'm going to fuck the shit out of you and ruin your life at the same time."_

Demon Dick Energy. 

In seconds her back is laid out on her kitchen table, the take-out boxes nearly crushed if it hadn't been for a sweep to the wall. He's on top of her now, hand sliding into her shorts to feel for her slick pussy. She hitches a breath when his thumb finds her clit and strokes it in soft circles.

When he slips his fingers inside and start finger-fucking her, she's already a slippery mess.

He's not fast and deep like Lawrence, or fast and rough like Daniel. He's slow, hitting her spots with the right pressure that brings her close but not close enough. She feels everything and her body is arching to get more of that feeling. He watches her when he does it, eyes never leaving her face as he adds speed to his strokes. When he hits those spots just the way she needs, her legs are shaking and she's clutching the chair legs for dear life.

"Cum." He growls, his strokes getting faster and deeper. 

"Oh, FUCK!" Issa cries. She's slamming her head against the table. 

Sharp rapping on her door makes her jump up, but he slams her back down onto the table, holding her down with one hand while finger-fucking her with the other.

"Issa! The squirrels are having sex in the wall again!" A voice shouts from the door. 

"I'll get to it in a se-e-ECOND." Issa yelps out. 

Fuck.

She's about to come within an earshot away from the door. 

The orgasm is coming whether she likes it or not; her body is counting down. 

"Issa! The squirrels!"

_Five._

"I'll get to it!"

_Four._

" _Now_ , Issa!"

_Three._

"I'm coming, Trina!."

_Two._

"Hurry up!"

_One._

"I'm cumming, I'm cumming, I'm fucking CUMMING!" Issa screams out, squirting on Spooky's patient fingers and collapsing on the kitchen counter. White noise fills her ears, her body tingles and the slightest touch makes her gasp and squirm. 

This must be what heaven feels like.

"You ain't gotta be fucking rude! I'm going to be in my apartment and if you ain't here in five minutes I'm going to file a complaint!" Trina says through the door. 

Issa comes down from her high and slides off the table with Spooky's assistance.

"Oh, my god." She pants out. Spooky cleans up the mess, opens up his breakfast plate and resumes eating. 

"You should get going. The squirrels need you." He deadpans, lifting his fork at her. 

She grabs her robe and heads out to Trina's apartment.

This man is fucking _dangerous_.


	5. Hella Comfortable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oscar and Issa stumble into a new normal.

"How could you get this job and you can't even fix your own leaky faucet?"

Issa leans against the kitchen counter as Spooky is belly up underneath her kitchen cabinet, her barely used toolbox being put to work. He slides out, wiping his hands on the rag she gave him. 

"Try it again." He orders. 

Issa turns on the faucet and he peeks into the cabinet.

"Alright, you're good." He says. Issa hands him an ice cold beer, which he accepts with a grunted out 'thanks'. 

When he gulps it down, he chucks it to her and she tosses it into the recycle bin. 

"Again, thank you-"

"Issa, it's nothing. You don't have to keep telling me thank you." He says. 

His phone rings. 

Issa sucks in a breath and nods. He answers the phone and he's in her bathroom now, like he was before at her old apartment. 

In less than ten minutes, he exits.

"I got to go." He starts.

"I know." She answers.

"I'll see you tonight, okay?" 

He's in her face now. She could smell the beer on his breath.

She nods her head and barely feels his lips touch her cheek when her front door closes with a soft click.

She takes a shower, ignoring the Irish Spring bar of soap to grab at her own and scrubs her skin clean. After the shower, she checks her phone for any notifications and sees a Lyft ride has been requested. She hits accept and hops into her car. 

"Ay, Issa!" Thug Yoda greets her as she pulls up to the Cannabis Clinic he stands posted in. He's got at least three shopping bags filled with what she knows is weed that starts with a B. 

"Hey, Thug Yoda. How's Nala?"

"She doing good, but she slacking in school. She getting," He growls out, _"C's."_

"They grading that young...?"

"...I want A's and B's only. Get a... _C_...and you might as well be dead to me."

"Why not help her study?"

"That's the thing. The fucking teachers won't respect my beliefs and keep knocking off points for her spelling. We don't use C's in our household and they got to respect that."

"Have you c- _bonsidered_...taking that up in a Parent-Teacher _Bonference_? That way they'll see that you're active in Nala's life and just want her to do better in school and you _ban_ explain it's a _bultural_ thing she's spelling things that start with a C with a B."

"I'll do that. But if they won't respect my beliefs...Nala is getting home-schooled."

_Oh hell naw. That little girl is FUCKED._

"Let's do baby steps before it _bomes_ to that, okay?"

"Aight. See, that's why I like you, Issa. You smart." Thug Yoda taps his head with his index finger. He claps a hand on her shoulder.

"But enough about me. What you been up to?"

"Well, the usual. Work. I'm actually...trying to make a Block Party happen."

"Aye that's what's up! When is it?"

"I don't know. I have a lot of...paperwork to do, people to talk to, all that good stuff. Lawrence is-"

"Aye, whatever happened to him? That's the homie." 

"Umm...he's doing good."

"Y'all still together?"

"No. We broke up."

"Ah, damn. But you know what? I got a _bousin_ I _bould_ -"

"It's alright. I got someone." 

"Get the fuck out of here? Who?"

"...Spooky."

" _Spooky_ Spooky? Aye...that's _also_ the homie. Aight, I see you. Y'all gon have some bute ass... _blexican babies_. They gon' have his eyebrows, your _Bolgate_ smile, and some smooth ass skin."

His stop is approaching.

They reached the destination. Thug Yoda unbuckles his seatbelt and exits the car.

"Thanks again, Issa."

"Anytime. Five stars." Issa smiles at him. 

"Them babies never have to set foot in a dentist office a day in their life." Thug Yoda says with a knowing smile, shaking his head before turning on his heel and into a building.

 

Fall

"Can we talk?" 

Spooky puts his beer down on the coaster and eyes Issa.

"'Sup?" He asks her. 

"What are we doing?" 

His eyebrow raises.

"Like...are you living with me or...?"

"No...? Do you want me to live with..."

"No! I mean, no, but I kind of want to know because you're always here whenever I come home."

"Issa..."

"I just want to know what's going on."

"I get it, Issa. I'm overstaying my welcome."

"I didn't say that. I-I just..."

"Stop." Spooky holds up his hand.

"I thought you liked me being here."

"I do. I do like you being here. You scare people." Issa says with a chuckle. 

"Like a...pit-bull...with shades."

If Spooky's eyebrow could raise any higher it would disappear into his hairline.

"Well...what do you suggest we do about it?" He asks.

"For starters...maybe not put Irish Spring in my bathroom?"

"What's wrong with Irish Spring?"

"It smells like you're marking your territory in my bathroom."

"Is that another pit-bull reference...?" He stops himself and exhales.

"So, what else?"

"Can you not leave all hours of the night without telling me where you're going?"

"I got shit I need to take care of that doesn't involve you. You know that."

"I don't...know anything, really. I don't even know your government name. I don't know anything about you other than you like eating pussy."

"The less you know about me, the better." 

"Spooky...I don't want to share a bed with a stranger. It may work for you but it doesn't work for me."

Silence.

"Spooky, talk to me-"

"- _Issa._ "

Taking the hint, she drops it. 

~~~

"So, is y'all just fucking or fucking and living together?"

Issa looks up from her coffee. Molly taps her nails against the table, insisting on an answer.

"It's complicated." Issa answers. Molly sucks her teeth.

"Bitch...you too damn old for those complicated relationships-"

"-He's a whole gang-banger, Molly. Not Thug Yoda type, _Blood In Blood Out_ , _"Bitch I caught a body 'bout a week ago"_ type."

Molly shakes her head. 

"Them the ones with the best dick. Freshman Year in college." She says, holding up her latte in salute before sipping.

"But Molly, I don't know what to do in this situation. You're more versed in hood niggas than I am." Issa says. Molly rolls her eyes. 

"That was my wild phase in college. Most I can tell you from my experience, Issa, is to not ask questions about what he does outside of your apartment. Don't ask questions, enjoy the dick, and when he gets locked up, put money on his books the first few months and slowly phase out of his life with your wallet intact. And don't ever make friends with his friends because as soon as he dies they gon' swoop in on you like vultures and give you that _"My Condolences"_ dick." 

"What about Thug Yoda? He's friends with him."

"Bitch, Thug Yoda is friends with everybody as long as your name doesn't start with a C."

"True."

"And besides, don't even trip over Spooky. You got that block party to plan. How's the plan going so far?"

"Got some permits but I'm still up to my neck in paperwork. I'm talking with Condola later on tonight for the acts."

"Daniel pulled through in the music yet?"

"He's talking to people right now, but he said it's been tricky since he'd gotten a bad rep from Khalil."

"In my honest opinion, that was his own damn fault. He let his pride get in the way."

"Sounds familiar."

"Bitch, I didn't ask for shade."

"Our convos are never a shade-free zone. Never."

"You know what, touche."

"Touche. Anyway, how's it been with your new case?"

"Pretty difficult considering it's a one-woman job. I need a team but Taurean's fake ass gon' choose the women over me."

"That's...kind of your fault..."

"Bitch bye! This case is really stressing me out." Molly looks around and leans in close to Issa, "That little boy is looking at a 2nd degree murder charge, attempted murder including assault with a deadly weapon and unlawful possession of a firearm and that's just the tip of the list of charges he's facing. I have to get him off on a lighter sentence."

"What would be a lighter sentence?"

"Bitch...how's fifteen years?"

"Shit!"

"The boy was trying to shoot a rival gang member and wound up shooting and hitting two people with one bullet at a fucking _quinceañera_. Honestly, I don't know how I can help him. This is a cut and dry case and bitch ass Taurean dumped it on me because he doesn't like to lose."

"It's going to work itself out, I know it."

"I don't know about this one. You know how the legal system gets down about black boys who get caught up in stupid shit."

"That's why you got into law in the first place."

"That and a fat paycheck."

"Speaking of a fat paycheck..."

"Bitch, you not getting out of paying for our food. I treated you two times last week."

"Worth a shot, worth a shot."

Issa digs into her wallet and pulls out a crumpled piece of newspaper.

"This coupon should still work," she tells Molly.

"Issa, I swear to God..."

"Buy a latte, get a meal three dollars off-"

"-Check, please!"

~~~

Issa wakes to arms wrapped around her middle and the smell of Irish Spring and tobacco.

"Your heater's busted." Spooky's groggy voice says in her ear. 

"I'll...get on that. When did you...come in?"

"An hour ago."

"Did you use the key under the mat?"

"No, you had a loose window so I slid in, took a shower, and got in the bed."

"That's unnerving."

"No one's coming to your place like that. I'm your pit-bull. With shades. Remember?"

"I'm sorry about-"

He laughs against her neck.

"It's fine. It's...cute."

Issa relaxes into his touch.

"You don't...have to tell me everything about what you do, but if we want this to work and you want to keep coming here we're going to have to communicate. I want to know the person who's basically living with me." 

He sighs deeply.

"What do you want to know?"

"Your real name would be a start."

"If I tell you, you promise to call me that only in the bedroom. Nowhere else."

"Fair."

"Oscar."

"That's...not what I expected."

"What'd you think my name was? Julio or some shit like that?"

"No...?"

"Alright. I'm going to sleep. Goodnight, Bunny."

"Bunny?"

"Because I can feel your anxiety miles away."

She doesn't say anything after that.


	6. Hella Uncomfortable (Halloween)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Issa makes the mistake of introducing Spooky to her friends, and it goes downhill from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say thank you to all of the people that are rocking with the story, giving comments, and giving kudos. I really appreciate it and fuck with y'all.

Issa stands at the door of the Dubois’ home, Spooky tossing his arm over her shoulder.

“Sure you want to meet my friends? We can always go back and watch Game of Thrones.” 

“Issa, it’s fine. It’s Halloween and I ain’t got shit to do tonight. Everyone else is going trick ‘r treating with their kids.”

“It’s just...my friends are hot ass messes, especially Tiff-”

As if on cue, the door swings open and it’s none other than pregnant ass Tiffany, dressed as a cat. How Tiffany could make a cat costume look pretentious and bougie as hell, Issa will never know.

“Hey, you’re late, but come on in! Make yourselves at home!” Tiffany greets with a wide-eyed smile, sizing up Spooky.

“And you are?” She asks.

“Spooky.” He answers. She raises an eyebrow, purses her lips but says nothing.

“Is this your costume…?” she waves her hand over Spooky’s frame. 

“No.” He answers flatly.

Issa closes her eyes tightly. 

Here we fucking go.

“I’m...sorry, but I could’ve sworn I told Issa and everyone else in the group chat to wear a costume or they won’t get in…”

“...Tiffany,” Issa starts but Tiffany holds up her hand.

_“It’s fine,”_ Tiffany says, stressing her voice with each inflection. 

“It’s fine. Just...come in, I guess.” She repeats, eyeing Spooky again with a look of fear and judgment.

When the two enter the house, Tiffany pulls Issa to a corner and whispers, “If anything winds up broken or missing, I’m calling the police.”

Before Issa could reply, Tiffany disappears into the party.

The party is...posh. To describe it any other way would not fit Tiffany’s MO. It’s a Halloween party but it’s more of a depressing get-together of adults desperate to get away from their kids or careers and have a glass of wine to accompany it. It’s like any other party Tiffany throws only this time it involved them wearing a costume. 

Issa, dressed as a Playboy Bunny, is helping herself to the free food and the free drinks. She’d spent her last paycheck on groceries but she’d be damned if she was going to pass up free food because she sure as shit isn’t going to cook when she gets home. 

While she’s piling plate after plate of free food she looks over at Spooky. He’s posted against the wall, shades on even though he’s inside, crossing his arms and clutching his red cup so tight it’s bending. His body language is screaming ‘fuck off’, a contrast from the chill and stuck-up atmosphere of the party. Everyone can feel it too; partygoers make it an effort to avoid the space he inhabits.

He seems to lock eyes with Issa and his body relaxes slightly, his scowl replaced with a calm expression. 

“Hungry?” Spooky asks from behind. He leans in, resting his chin on her shoulder and wrapping his arms around her waist.

“I’m not cooking tonight.” Issa replies.

“We could stop at a burger joint and get food when we leave here. I don’t really like the food here. It’s dry.” Spooky grimaces at the finger sandwich. He places his lips close to Issa’s ear.

“Issa...I don’t want to be here. I’m surrounded by people who think because they got a college degree they can look down on someone. These people looked at me and my tattoos and I knew exactly what they were thinking without them saying a word.”

“I don’t like that shit.” He adds, his tone darkening.

“I never...took you for someone who cares what someone thinks.” Issa says. 

“Issa, I don’t belong here. You don’t belong here. We were better off at the apartment watching Game of Thrones and Kevin reruns.”

“Spooky, just give them a chance. Sometimes, you got to step out of your comfort zone and try new things.”

“Issa...this is way past my comfort zone.”

“Spooky.” Issa says softly, reaching out to touch his cheek. When she strokes his jawline, trails down his collarbone and maintains eye contact, she sees him shudder in a breath. 

“You’re gonna stop exploiting my weak spot to get your way, Bunny. It’s not gonna work one of these days.” He says, looking away and taking a sip of his drink.

In less than an hour, Issa got blisters in her feet, is slightly tipsy from the spiced pumpkin drink she took way too many flutes of in the pumpkin bowl (It has some French-sounding name Tiffany probably picked from Google. Bougie bitch.), and is sitting said tipsy ass in the kitchen, debating whether or not to stick her feet in the ice chest that got one soda floating miserably in it. 

Spooky has since loosened up, or has loosened up in Issa’s standards; he’s somewhere in the living room, knocking back a drink and a bystander to a loud ass conversation Dro is having with Derek. Bless his heart.

Molly and Andrew come into the kitchen, giggling and damn near glued together. Andrew is dressed up as Frankenstein and Molly the Bride of Frankenstein. God, they look so cute together, like an Old Navy commercial. Molly looks at her friend with a look of pity and “I told you so”.

“Told you on the fifth glass that that was enough, but your stubborn ass wouldn’t listen.” Molly voices the thought, sitting beside her and grabbing a grocery bag filled with ice from Andrew. She places the bag on Issa’s feet and she almost cries from relief. 

“Why isn’t Spooky in the kitchen with you? He should be doing this, ol’ trifling ass…”

“...I made him go out and try to mingle. It’d look weird if he was all up on me the entire time and not socialize with other people.”

“True.” Molly and Andrew say in unison. A phone chirps. Andrew digs into his pocket and looks at his phone. 

“Nathan’s coming.” Andrew says.

Flashes of her last encounter with Nathan hits Issa like a tidal wave; the anger, the embarrassment, the feelings of rejection, the confusion and guilt, all of it wash over her and it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. Molly looks over at her friend and grabs her hand.

“You good?” She asks.

Issa nods. 

“He’ll be here in a few minutes. Went out and grabbed a costume at the last minute from the Dollar Store.” Andrew says with a snort. He shows the women the photo of Nathan, dressed as Count Dracula with a children’s cape and glow-in-the dark fangs. 

Issa, against her better judgment, finds herself staring at the photo longer than she needed to. She can still remember the night on the ferris wheel like it was yesterday, she can still feel the sun on her face when she runs naked with him from her old home.

It ended as quickly as it started, and despite Nathan’s explanation, she still didn’t get her closure. 

She should be over him by now, washed him clean from her mind, but here she is, staring at the man who could’ve been where Spooky is right now…

Spooky. 

Shit.

She jerks her head away like she’d been burned. 

“I’m gonna go check on Spooky.” She announces, sliding out of her chair and making her way to the living room. She’s greeted with an uncomfortable sight: Spooky is now circled by people, his body language getting tenser by the second. 

“So,” Derek starts, “You ever go to college?”

“No.” Spooky answers flatly.

“That’s...dope. Pretty cool. College ain’t for everybody, you know?” Derek says, raising his eyebrows and nodding. 

Spooky takes a deep breath but Issa sees him clenching his teeth so tight his jawbone is jutting out. 

“Yeah. It’s mainly for people with their head up their ass.” He bites out. Derek is taken aback. 

“Woah, no need to be rude. I was just trying to make conversation…”

“I know your type.”

“My type?” Derek asks, his body tensing up and his eyebrow arched.

“Did I stutter?” Spooky replies.

“What would be my type?”

“Hey, let’s change the subject!” Issa cuts in, limping to the couch. 

“No, Issa, let’s see what your felon-bae got to say about my type.”

“Silver spoon-having, never had to work a day in their life, ‘I went to a college my daddy paid for so I’m better than everyone else’, thinks their shit don’t stink, head up their ass. That’s your type.”

Gasps and jeers erupt in the crowd. 

“You know what your problem is? You looked at me and judged me before you even got to know me.” Derek retorts.

“I worked hard to get to college. I came from poverty-”

“-I can smell the suburbs on you. People who came from poverty carry themselves and move differently than you do. Quit bullshitting.”

“Let’s break it up, guys. Break it up. Kumba-”

“You come into my house, fucking up the vibe with your negative ass energy and got offended when I was trying to make innocent conversation-”

“-Negative ass energy? All I did was walk in and got all eyes on me like I’m some animal. I had some pregnant white girl with a tan come over to Issa and asked her if she could make sure I wouldn’t steal anything.”

“That pregnant white girl with a tan is my wife and she’s black.”

Spooky’s eyebrow raises. He leans into Issa and whispers, “They make ‘em like that?”

“Now you disrespecting my wife…”

“...I’ve never seen a black person that light since my homie Albino Lionel...”

Kelli’s cackle can be heard from a distance.

“...The point, being made, is...you guys made him uncomfortable.” Issa blurts out. Eyes are on her now.

“Look, you know how you guys are with people that didn’t go to Princeton or rubbed elbows at art galas. We grown, now. We too old to be looking at and turning our noses up at anybody. And those questions?” Issa looks over at Derek, “come on, Derek. You know those comments were condescending as fuck. You know you wouldn’t have said the things you said to anyone like Spooky anywhere else. You’d be cussed the fuck out.” 

“What is you guys, Issa?” Derek asks.

“You and Tiffany. You guys act hella stuck-up and always have something shady to say about anyone that isn’t in your circle.” Issa answers.

“Our circle? Issa, you are in my circle…”

“Derek, you know what I’m talking about. Your bougie ass circle that extends to Molly but cuts off with me and Kelli.”

“Excuse you, bitch! I got money!” Kelli shouts.

“Shut the fuck up, Kelli!” Issa shouts back.

“Is that how you think of us? Stuck-up and shady?” Tiffany comes front and center, holding her belly. Issa sees the hurt and wants nothing more to sink into the couch.

“Tiffany…”

“This is news to me. I thought we were friends.”

“We _are_ friends, Tiffany. But, your bougie ass rubs people the wrong way and makes me not want to hang out with you as much. Why do you think we have secret group chat conversations-” Issa cuts herself off.

Goddamn that drink is a truth serum. 

“So y’all do have secret group chats that y’all exclude me from!” 

Oh, shit.

“Baby, calm down…” Derek tries to grab her hand but she yanks it away.

“You think I’m so bougie, so stuck up, why didn’t you say anything before?”

“Because you’re petty as fuck, Tiffany! You literally waited until Kelli’s birthday to bring up me and Lawrence breaking up in front of everyone as a cheap shot! What friend does that?”

“A friend that wants everybody to keep it real!”

“Oh, you want to talk about _real_?” Issa rises up too fast and almost falls over herself.

“What’s real is you always got something to say that isn’t up to par with your high ass standards. Not everybody can afford what you can afford, Tiff. You think I like you bringing that shit up every time you come over to my apartment?”

“Well maybe if you quit working for those non-profits and fucking men that don't have shit going for them, you’d be where I’m at! With a house and a ring!”

“Oh, fuck you, Tiffany! Fuck you and this tired, basic, _Better Homes & Garden_ ass house!”

“Fuck you too, Issa! You and your _thrift store as your only option_ ass fashion choices!”

“You basic bougie bitch!”

“At least I’m not a basic _broke_ one!” 

“At least I didn’t _fuck my professor_ to make my _Bachelors_!”

Loud ‘ooh’s break out, accompanied by hisses. Tiffany is sputtering, eyes wide and her mouth twisted in rage. In her peripheral, Issa notices Spooky look at her with both of his eyebrows raised, a laugh threatening to escape his mouth. 

“Get out.” Tiffany hisses, pointing to the door. 

Issa tries to move, but falls to the floor. Spooky throws her over his shoulder and calmly makes his way to the front door, holding her purse. He turns and says, 

“Thank you for throwing this party. Very...memorable compared to the ones I threw in Freeridge.” 

And he shuts the door.

“Some party, huh?” Spooky asks. Issa takes a minute, enjoying the pressure off her feet. 

“I wanna say I appreciate you sticking up for me back there. You a real one.”

“It never should’ve went that far. Our friendship is over. Oh my god, she probably hates me right now.” Issa moans. 

“Fuck her. If she acts like that, she ain’t a friend worth keeping.”

“You don’t understand. You can do that to a friend you’ve known for like a year. We’ve been friends since high school.”

“If it’s like that, then she’ll get over it. Call her in the morning, lie and say you were drunk, and pretend it never happened.”

“That’s not...nevermind.”

“It’ll be okay. If you can’t tell the truth like that, is she really your friend?”

Issa sighs. She just wants to fade away…

“Issa?”

Oh, fuck. Could her night get any worse?

She lifts her head and it’s Nathan, in the flesh, walking towards her.

“Hey, Nathan.” She greets. Spooky stops and turns.

“You know him?” He asks her over his shoulder. Issa nods.

“Woah, am I...in the middle of something, or…” Nathan trails off.

Spooky gently puts her down, but holds her by the waist to keep her stable.

“No! No, not at all.” Issa answers. Nathan looks at her, but she knows his eyes are seeing through her and looking at Spooky. Jealousy flashes in his eyes but he controls it with a deep breath.

“We were just leaving.” Spooky answers.

“We?” Nathan asks.

“Oh, uh...Nathan, this is Spooky. Spooky, this is Nathan.” Issa introduces them.

“Nice to meet you.” They say in unison, but Issa can feel the tension.

“Guess I’ll...see you around. Later, Issa. Nice to meet you, _Spooky_.”

“Likewise... _Nathan_.”

He pulls Issa closer to him and kisses her temple. Nathan nods his head and walks to the party. 

“What the fuck was that about?” Issa asks. 

“I’m letting him know. Now he knows.”

Issa raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. 

They make it to Issa’s car. Taking the keys from Issa’s purse, Spooky opens the car and slides Issa in the passenger seat.

“I’ll grab some shit from this meat market and cook tonight.” He says to her. Issa nods and digs into her phone, that’s glowing by the second. When she opens it, her heart stops.

Eight missed calls, two voice messages, three text messages of Molly typing in caps lock.

**“WHERE ARE YOU!?!”**

**“TIFFANY IS GOING INTO LABOR!!!”**

**“GET YOUR ASS HERE NOW.”**

As if on cue, an ambulance whines past them and down where Tiffany’s house resides.

“The fuck is going on?” Spooky asks.

“Follow the ambulance.” Issa says.

~~~

Issa is in the middle of panic. Molly and Derek are on the opposite sides of Tiffany’s stretcher, who is screaming bloody murder. Doctors and nurses are following the stretcher, shouting medical jargon that goes over Issa’s head. Issa runs to them but Tiffany shouts, “Not you, bitch! Not. You!” and Issa stops in her tracks. Tiffany’s screams are halted when the room’s door slams shut.

She and Spooky sit in the waiting room for what felt like hours, both passing the time eating vending machine snacks and drinking free soda from a rigged soda machine.

When Molly came out, face sweaty and wide-eyed, Spooky is passed out on Issa’s shoulder and she’s nodding off.

“Well, Issa,” she starts.

“It’s a healthy baby boy.” 

“That’s good.” Issa yawns.

“Tiffany is pissed, though. You know she wanted to give birth on her own terms. She blames you for making her give birth early.”

“The fuck did I do?”

“Embarrass her in front of her bougie ass friends and made her so mad her water broke?”

“But she was close to the due date anyway.”

“She was due in one week.”

“Look at it this way, the baby will get free candy and birthday cake at the same time.”

“Issa, it’s two o’clock in the morning. The baby was born at 1:15 AM. After Halloween.”

“We’ve been here for this long?”

“Issa, I don’t know how to put this, but...I don’t think Tiffany wants to be friends with you anymore. You really hurt her feelings.”

“Mol, you know I didn’t mean those things I said-”

“-You meant everything you said and I know it. But it was a time and a place for that and not to mention you embarrassed her in front of her friends and colleagues and induced her labor. I don’t think this is something that’s going to smooth over.” 

“You know what, fine. I’ll let her calm down, I’ll calm down, and we just take some time away from each other. One day, we can talk it over and things will be like they were.”

“Okay, Issa. Just...don’t check your Facebook, okay?”

“What’s on my Facebook?”

“Girl...She and Derek blocked you.”

“It’s that serious?”

“ _Deadass_ serious.”

“I think it’s time I leave. Clearly I’m not wanted.” Issa wakes Spooky and heads out of the waiting room.

~~~

“I know this sucks, but you’ll get over it. You just…move forward.” Spooky offers. Issa is leaned against her window. 

“Hey, Bunny. Don’t...don’t be like that. I’m not used to seeing you so...mopey.”

“I caused my friend to have a premature baby and she wants nothing to do with me. Just like that.” Issa says. Spooky squeezes her knee.

"Hey," he starts, eyes focused on the road.

_"You got me."_


	7. Hella Disrespectful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Issa learns a bit of Oscar's dark side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'ma keep it real with you...I was having _way_ too much fun writing this chapter. Some of it was pulled from my experience dating. So, enjoy(?)

"Ah, shit. Yes, right there, don't stop." Issa moans out. Spooky takes the hint and keeps his rhythm, bobbing his head between her legs. Issa lies back and eyes his popcorn ceiling and notices the sun peek through the blinds, leaving shadows.

They'd been going at it for hours; seems Spooky got a fetish for Playboy Bunnies. She's naked as the day she was born except for her heels and the bunny-eared headband that's tilted to the side. Arching her back, she's about to reach her orgasm when the door swings open and she hears two bloodcurdling screams.

She freezes. 

Two kids, old enough to be in high school, are standing in the doorway with a look of shock, confusion, disgust, and intrigue. One was a light-skinned black girl and the other is an overgrown Mexican boy with the strongest eyebrow game she'd ever witnessed since Spooky.

Spooky stops and faces them.

"Close the fucking door!" He barks out. The two kids are scrambling to close the door, muttering sorry. The door is slammed close and Spooky sighs sharply. Issa snatches the blanket and wraps around herself. 

"Who were they?" She asks.

"My dumbass brother and his _hyna_."

" _Hyena_?"

" _Hyna_. His girl."

"...Got it."

"Get dressed. We gotta go out there and...fuck, I was going to introduce you to him but not like this." 

"Do I wear the bunny suit because...you tore it off me and a portion of it is hanging off your lamp..."

He chucks his shirt to her.

"Wear this. I got some boxers in the dresser you could use."

Issa, newly dressed, comes outside and is greeted by the two looking up at her and feels extra exposed. Spooky comes up behind her and coughs.

"Cesar, this is Issa. Issa, this is Cesar." He says. 

"Nice to...meet you." She nervously chuckles out. The girl quirks an eyebrow.

"I'm Monse. I'm Cesar's...girlfriend."

"Cool. Cool. You look nice-"

"Wait, why do I feel I'd seen you before?"

"Well, I used to work for the We Got Y'all afterschool program-"

"-Oh my God, I remember, now! Ruby showed us the video, Cesar!"

_What video?_

"Wait... _Broken Pussy_?"

Issa closes her eyes tightly.

_That video._

_"Maybe it's dry as hell, maybe it really smells, Broken Pussy!"_ Monse and Cesar sings in unison. Cesar bursts into laughter.

If the world could swallow her whole, Issa would hope now would be the time.

~~~

Issa sits at the table, across from Cesar and Monse, all awkwardly trying to find a conversation. Spooky is cooking breakfast, his back turned to the trio. 

"So..." Issa starts, "How was your Halloween?"

"It was...good." Cesar says. He's stifling his laughter.

"Good! Good..." Issa trails off.

"So what inspired you to rap Broken Pussy? Are you talking from experience or..."

"Let's not...talk about it..."

"Cesar, you remembered when Ruby had that as his ringtone for two weeks?"

"I had the remix in Spanish as mine."

Issa sinks deeper into her chair, holding her head in her hands.

Niggas out here making bilingual remixes of her failures. Fuck. These. Badass. Kids.

Spooky lands a plate of hot food in front of Issa. Eggs with cheese, sausage, grits, and toast. He does the same for Monse and Cesar. 

"You want coffee, get some from the pot. Eat up. No more about this...Broken Pussy." He says. 

Issa secretly thanks God for being granted this mercy. 

~~~

"Girl...his little brother walked in?"

Issa nods her head in shame. Molly is snickering behind her cup of tea. 

"Freshman Year in college," she reminisces. 

"I mean...at least he didn't walk in during the brunt of it. I would not be able to hold my head high if they saw me face down, ass up, on some Fifty Shades shit." 

"Girl, please. That's a Tuesday for a bitch getting regular dick." 

"Bitch, bye. But enough about my hellish morning..."

"...did he find the ringtone for Spanish Broken Pussy...?"

"... _how is your case going?_ "

"Girl...it's sad to say the least. I met up with Latrelle and...the shit is depressing. He might be doing life; the judge isn't budging unless we cut a deal."

"What would be the deal?"

"He has to snitch."

"Bitch...on who?"

"Whoever is in charge of the Santos gang. The Santos is leading in drug trafficking sales along with extortion. All Latrelle got to do is give a name and he could spend eight years in maximum."

"And he won't take it..."

"Girl, you know how it goes. He may be stupid, but he not stupid stupid. You never rat, even if it's on the enemy."

"So, what are you gonna do?"

"I'm going to figure out who the dude is and give up the name on Latrelle's behalf. He won't be outed as a snitch and he won't have to do life."

"There's a snag...you'll be outed as a snitch."

"I'm a _lawyer_ , Issa. I'm so far removed from this gang life they won't even try it with me." 

"Bitch, some of those gangbangers don't care. They will kill anyone that gets in the way of their operation."

"That's why you link up with good people, on both sides. I've rubbed elbows with the men in blue and I've dated a few niggas that will still ride for me, Bloods _and_ Crips. I call my pussy _The Coalition_."

"You dumb as hell." Issa laughs.

"But...you be careful, bitch. Something happens to you, you basically fucked. I don't know which Facebook photo to upload at your vigil."

"Bitch...the one of me in church with the champagne glass sitting next to Miss Hattie. Classy, Christian, and Complex. Triple threat."

"Good to know."

~~~

Issa is standing outside of Spooky's house, shivering from both anxiety and the cold. She's wearing a cream crop-top that gives a peek of her lacy purple bra, green pants she'd gotten from Fashion Nova that flare at the ankles and cup her ass so tight she can feel the yeast infection coming on, with sneakers and a zip-up HBCU hoodie to top off the look. Her natural hair is out, moisturized from a good deep conditioning. She wears hoop earrings and purple lipstick to match her nails.

The door swings open. It's a tattooed dude with a blunt behind his ear. He looks her up and down with a hint of disgust.

"You lost, Negrita?" He asks. 

_That's a little racist,_ Issa thinks.

"I'm not lost...sir. I'm here for...Spooky. He invited me."

The tattooed man's eyes widen.

"He invited you?" He asks. 

"Yes. You want me to call him, or..."

"No, it's...come in." 

And she does, but as she observes the place she wishes she'd turn around and leave.

Men, covered in tattoos, dressed like extras from the hood movies of the 90s, smoking and drinking while scantily-clad women dance and hang on their arm like trophies. Loud rap music is blaring, the marijuana smoke is so thick it chokes her and she can taste the 40s. How they got their hands on them, she'll never know. 

She tries to ignore the eyes on her as she maneuvers through the room, trying to find Spooky. She sees him in the backyard, talking among men twice his size with little trouble. She leans against the glass door; she's going to wait until he's done and until then she's going to mingle. 

Issa pours herself a red cup of the punch bowl and takes a sip. She spits it out. Shit tastes like pure alcohol with cough syrup. Pouring it down the sink, she helps herself to a water bottle.

"Hey, Chocolate." 

She pauses and turns. 

It's this scrawny dude, wearing clothes two sizes too big, leaning against the refrigerator looking at her like she's a piece of meat. 

"Hi." She smiles thinly.

"You kinda cute for a black girl."

"You say that to all the black girls you meet or...?"

"I'm gonna cut to the chase. You and me, making some jungle fever. You down?"

"First of all, that's racist as fuck."

"Girl, I'm Mexican. I can't be racist." 

"You literally said..." She stops herself and sighs.

"I'm not interested. Thank you."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not interested in your...jungle fever fetish. Thanks, though."

"You really gon' turn me down?"

"I just did. Yup."

"So you too good for this dick, huh? You _black bitches_ always this uppity?"

"I don't have time for this. You have a good night." She walks off to the sliding door and knocks. Spooky turns to face her and nods his head. She opens the sliding door and smiles at him.

"Hey, Spooky, I just want to tell you I'm about to leave. I'm a little out of place here." 

Spooky frowns. 

"Didn't you just...get here..."

"...Some nigga is talking hella disrespectful so I'm about to leave."

"Hold the fuck up." Spooky's tone darkens. The men behind him suck his teeth and Issa swore she heard one say, "oh shit."

"Who was talking disrespectful?" He asks.

"Spooky, it's not that serious-"

"- _Point, Issa._ "

He is not fucking around.

With hesitation, she points to the man.

"Spooky..."

He slams the sliding door shut and walks to the man. 

Issa watches in horror when Spooky punches the man square in the face and keeps hitting him. Blow after blow, Issa was helpless as she's forced to watch Spooky beat this man to a pulp. Music automatically stops and everyone is witnessing what she's witnessing. Spooky grabs the man by the collar of his bloodied shirt and hauls him to the sliding door. He opens the door and throws the man to Issa's feet. She shrieks, jumping back. Spooky smacks the man's head.

"Look at her. Look at her right now." He commands. The man obeys and eyes Issa through his good eye, the other one swelling up shut.

"What did he say to you, Issa?" Spooky asks.

"Spooky, please-"

" _What did he say to you?_ " He shouts at her. She jumps.

"He called me a _black bitch_." She says. 

" _Black bitch_?" Spooky repeats, his tone having an extra layer of volume and bass. 

Issa closes her eyes. 

She'd signed someone's death warrant. 

"Spooky that's enough, I think he got the message-"

"You fucked up. _Bad_ , homie. You not only disrespected a _black woman_ but you disrespected _my woman_."

The crowd erupts in gasps and 'ooh's. The man is crying, sobbing and shaking his head.

"I'm sorry, Spooky. I didn't know, she never told me-"

Spooky pulls out a gun from his back pocket and smacks the man across the face with it. Issa sees a tooth fly and she screams. 

"-I don't give a fuck. Don't you _ever_ in your life disrespect me like that again. I should have your brains splattered on the concrete right now."

"Spooky, stop! Please, stop. That's enough. He's not worth it. Please." Issa's begging now, grabbing his arm. He shoves her away.

"This piece of shit comes into _my house_ , disrespecting _my woman_. I'm not letting this shit slide."

"You didn't let it slide. Spooky, killing him isn't going to solve anything. He's scared. _I'm_ scared. Please." 

Spooky looks over at her.

He looks back at the man. 

"Be thankful she's showing mercy, otherwise you'd never wake up to see tomorrow. Thank her. Now."

The man does, but it's garbled from the blood in his mouth. Issa nods her head.

"It's okay, it's okay. I'm sorry-"

"-Don't you dare apologize to this maggot." 

"Okay, Spooky. Whatever you want." Issa says, grabbing his arm again. He relaxes, putting the gun back in his pocket. He takes a deep breath and grabs her hand. He spits where the man lies.

"Get him cleaned up and out of my sight. This party is over."

~~~

Issa's shaky hands hold Spooky's hand still, applying pressure to the gauze. She'd bandaged his other hand, but the trauma of what she'd experienced is getting to her. Spooky is cool as a cucumber, trying to crack jokes, like he didn't pistol-whip and hold someone's life in his hands with hundreds of pairs of eyes on him. Because of her.

The hydrogen peroxide slips from her hands and splashes to the ground, her hands too shaky. Spooky grabs her hands.

"Bunny," He says softly. He kisses her knuckles.

"You're shaking."

"You almost killed someone."

"He disrespected you. I wasn't going to let that fly. I'm your pitbull, remember? I'm only showing you my bite is as worse as my bark."

"You didn't have-"

"-I did. It was about respect and he learned to respect you, did he not?"

"You scare me."

"I scare everyone. If I didn't scare you I'd be worried."

"Spooky-"

"-I know that's a lot for you to see. You're not used to that but if you were a part of my world you'd understand I did what needed to be done. I showed dominance and I let people know I'm not to be fucked with, especially disrespecting what's mine. They learned tonight."

"I don't want to be responsible for someone dying, Spooky. That's not something I want on my conscience."

"Relax. He's still alive. You're not supposed to see that side of me, I can admit that. Normally I'd keep that shit behind closed doors but I won't apologize for defending what's mine. You can't let people keep dissing you like that and think the shit is okay. It's not." 

"There's some battles that are just not worth fighting."

"It's worth it to me. Now, Bunny, if you gon' get upset that your pitbull did his job, which was protect and defend, then I don't know what to tell you. I'm a fucking pitbull. You knew what you were getting into when we went to your friend's party."

He held her hand.

"I like you, Issa. A lot. Enough to call you my _Ol' Lady_."

"Don't call me that."

"Fair. But...I'm claiming you. You mine. All mine. Whether you like it or not, I'm going to harm, maim, _kill_ , whoever so much as _look_ at you funny. I don't give a fuck."

"I'm aware you don't give a fuck."

"See? You getting with the program."

"Spooky...please. Don't...don't go that far next time. Or, don't..."

"I won't do it _in front of you_. That's fair."

It's as close to a compromise as Issa can get.

"Fair."

"Good. Now come here, Bunny. Let _papi chulo_ make you feel good."

~~~

Issa stares at the can of vegetables in the aisle, trying to disappear.

The man that suffered Spooky's beat-down is staring at her from across the aisle and it's making her nervous.

It's been a week since the party; so far the man's face has healed nicely, give or take some swelling and stitches. He'd been looking at her for fifteen minutes and follows her aisle to aisle. 

Is he going to kill her? Cuss her out? Send some goons to her apartment and beat her? 

He's walking to her and she's ready to piss herself. Before she could get a word out he drops to his knees at her feet.

"I apologize for my disrespectful behavior. That is not how I was raised and I am grateful that you showed me mercy despite my unacceptable behavior. I am showing my gratitude for your mercy." 

Bitch, did she step into the Twilight Zone?

"Thank you, but that's not...necessary..."

"...Black women are the goddesses of the earth, the sun, the stars, the moon..."

"...really, that's not necessary..."

"...I value you black queens. I love black women. I respect black women and for the rest of my days I will worship black women..."

"...You are making me _very uncomfortable_ right now..."

"I'm sorry, Black Queen."

"I'm going to walk away, now..."

"I respect you, Chocolate Nubian Queen!" The man shouts. 

Issa smiles politely and runs, her shopping cart be damned.

Spooky officially ruined grocery shopping.


	8. Hella Money

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Issa has to find other methods of income when the cost of living goes up.

_Good Afternoon, Ms. Dee...I hope this email finds you well...we regret to inform you that we've found other candidates that are better qualified for our openings. We will keep your resume on file..._

Issa almost chucks her phone.

This is the fifth rejection letter she'd received this week; this time the job was to be a goddamn teacher's assistant at a preschool. 

None of the job openings are available in her field; people are looking for Masters' and Doctorates', not Bachelor's in Liberal Arts/Political Science with tens of thousands of dollars of student loan debt under their belt. 

She should've listened to her mother and became a doctor instead, but she hates math and needles make her squeamish. 

There's been a shortage of non-profits that are willing to take her on; after her abrupt exit from We Got Y'all she's received a bad reputation as being a shit-starter. Nevermind that she's been the token black woman in an all-white setting for five years and had just now gotten around to calling them out on their bullshit. 

Her mouse hovers on her resume, seeing the timeline of the years wasted spent at We Got Y'all taking up so much space to her already empty-looking resume. 

God, this is depressing.

~~~

"So...why should we hire you?"

"Because...I...want to make a difference."

"Folding clothes?"

"Yes. A neatly folded shirt could...change your mood?"

A pause.

"Okay...I think we're done here. We'll call you when something opens up."

Issa collapses at the food court table, head in her hands. She bombed an interview at a fucking retail store. This is bullshit.

She walks around the mall again, passing out resumes and looking out for on the spot interviews. She's been walking around the mall so much her heels are giving her blisters and one of them is about to snap off at any second. 

When she stops at a music store she'd already swapped out her heels for the flats she'd crammed into her purse. She walks around the music store, admiring the instruments and the kids experimenting with the equipment. She finds herself standing in front of a microphone and feels a rap coming.

"Aye, Issa!" 

She turns around. It's Khalil, headphones perched around his neck and a baby bouncing on his hip. He smiles a wide smile at Issa and swoops in to hug her.

"Hey, Khalil!" She greets.

"'Sup with you? I catch you at a bad time or...?" Khalil gestures to the equipment.

"Oh, no...no. Just...looking around. Why?"

"You want to come chill at my place? I got to put my baby down for the day and we can just talk and catch up."

"No, I should get going..."

"You sure? It'll only take a minute and I got some bomb ass food I'm cooking tonight since Jaylah's gone for the weekend. You know I throw down in the kitchen."

"Yeah, I've seen your Facebook." Issa looks down. Her stomach is growling and her mouth waters. 

"Come on, Iss. You know you can't turn down free food." 

"You know me too well." Issa admits. Khalil laughs.

"It's settled then. Come through."

~~~

"How you been, Khalil?" Issa asks. She sits on Khalil's plush couch, stretching her toes while his son is watching cartoons. Khalil is in the kitchen, mixing something in a bowl.

"Chilling. You heard Spider's track on the radio? The shit is fire." 

"I'm more into Spotify these days."

Khalil sucks his teeth.

"Spider gon' put that track on Spotify soon. We working on a whole album together. It should drop this December."

"That's...cool. At least you working."

"Yeah, yeah. What were you doing today, though? I was just shopping around with my lil' man when I saw you."

"Honestly...looking for a job."

" _There?_ Man, times must be hard if you got college girls working at the _mall_ now."

"It's LA. They raise the prices the second another Midwest white girl steps foot in a black neighborhood and thinks, 'I should open a cupcake shop here'."

"Ha, you got jokes. But aye, tell you what, I know the dude that works here. I could put you on and land you a job."

"Khalil, you ain't got to-"

"-Don't trip, Iss. We cool, we went to school together and you solid. You ain't a snake like that buster Daniel."

Something is sizzling in the pan. Issa can smell onions and garlic. Well-seasoned, may she add.

"He...told me about that..."

"That shit ain't cool. I would never do no snake shit like that. " Khalil huffs, throwing a kitchen towel over his shoulder. He's grabbing a whole chicken and decorating it with vegetables.

"I know you have every right to be mad, but-"

"Issa, I've known Daniel since high school. We rivals and shit, but we grown ass men, on some real shit. He could've easily pulled me aside and talked to me instead of pulling that shit on me in front of Spider. Now he fucked up his career before it could even start."

"It's ego, Khalil. I think it was a blow to his pride-"

"-One thing I learned in this industry is that you need to put your feelings and your ego aside. If you don't humble yourself, this industry _will_ humble you _for you_. I had to swallow my pride and even kiss a little ass to get where I'm at. I'm not proud of it, but I'm here." He waves his hand over his living room. He slams the oven door. 

"I made some beats that I feel is absolute garbage but that's what the client wants. What you won't do, another producer will and that's food out you and your kids' mouth. Daniel doesn't get that and that's why he's where he's at right now, square one. Still trying to get an artist to buy his shit."

"I don't get why you're telling me all this..."

"Because, Issa, _you get it_. If it wasn't for you, Daniel would've never gotten into the club and I wouldn't have even opened my heart to help that nigga out. You know that sometimes you got to do shit you don't want to do to get ahead. Daniel could learn from you." 

The smells of rosemary and thyme waft out of the oven. Goddamn Khalil can cook his ass off.

"Be sure to tell him that. We...kind of had a falling out."

"That's a damn shame. That nigga stay blocking his blessings." He chides, shaking his head. 

"But Issa. Whatever you need, say the word. It's good." He says. He walks over to Issa, grabs her hand and gives it a squeeze. She nervously chuckles.

"Thanks, Khalil."

~~~

Issa comes home to a notice on her front door and her heart sinks.

Rent increase. Fifty dollars.

Forcing herself to remain calm, she snatches the notice off her door and enters her apartment.

Spooky is on her couch, reading one of her old books from college. She squints and notices it's the autobiography of Malcolm X.

"You see the notice on the door?" She asks him. 

"Yep." He answers. Without skipping a beat, he turns the page. 

"I have to cut corners even more. There goes my Netflix and Chill money."

"Issa...if you need money, ask for it. I don't mind giving you some money." 

"I don't just need money. I need a second, real, job besides Lyft." 

"Well, have you been applying?"

"Spooky, yes. And I've been rejected over and over. Khalil said he knew a guy at this music store-"

"-Who's Khalil?"

"He's an old friend of mine. Anyway, we met up and he said he could put in a good word for me and I might be working at a music store."

He hums.

"Sounds good, Bunny. " He says. He sets the book down and pulls Issa close.

"I cooked some dinner for the both of us. The steak's in the oven and I got some wine from the liquor store."

"That sounds good, but I already ate at Khalil's."

"You went to his house?" He asks. His tone has an edge that rubs Issa in all sorts of ways.

"Yeah. He cooked dinner. He and his son wanted me to come over."

Spooky looks at her but says nothing. 

"What's wrong?" Issa asks.

"I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to. You're looking at me all weird."

"Did you fuck him?"

"No. Fuck, no! Jesus, Spooky!"

"A man offers you a job and cooks you dinner? He was trying to fuck you, Issa. Don't be stupid."

"First of all, I've known Khalil since we was kids and he's damn near a play-cousin. He doesn't like me like that and he's _married_."

"That never stopped anyone before."

"Look, Spooky. I know I told you I cheated. _One time_ , may I add, and it was a _mistake_. But trust me I'd never make that same mistake again. Especially not with you."

"Issa-"

"-Trust me. _Please._ I never gave you a reason not to."

He inhales sharply. His face slips into inner turmoil before he gains his composure. 

"Okay." He says finally, his voice barely above a whisper. 

His grip around her hips say otherwise.

~~~

"Issa, why in the fuck would you tell him about your past?"

Issa collapses on her yoga mat from exhaustion. Molly disentangles herself from an intricate pose and does downward dog.

They're in Molly's apartment, doing an impromptu yoga session with Kelli narrating the poses. But judging from her sitting cross-legged and looking at a fight compilation she found on Worldstar, they're not getting far.

"I thought honesty was the best policy. I'd rather he hear it from me than hear it from somebody else." Issa says. Both Kelli and Molly suck their teeth and shake their head.

"Bitch, you and Spooky are in two different circles that have no chance of meeting. You really think he gon' bump into Lawrence at a Starbucks and the two jump into a conversation about how you slipped and fell on Daniel's dick?" Molly replies.

"No, but you got to expect the unexpected and besides, niggas always talk about how they want a girl that's honest."

"Girl, I know you out the game but let me break it down for you," Kelli stands up.

"See, there's honesty and there's _honesty_. Honesty is when you mention you've cheated. _Honesty_ is when you never bring that shit up. Ever. Niggas don't want honesty, they want _honesty_."

"So...lying by omission?"

"Bitch, _yes_! We _honest_ about body counts, whether or not we cheat on they ass, what we did with the abortion money, whether or not you were actually _pregnant_ when you got the abortion money, and the shit you testify about in church during the night you came back from Miami."

"Preach." Molly adds.

"I thought we too old for that. Bitch, we almost all in our 30s. We supposed to be on our grown woman shit."

"It ain't the same for these men. Some of them be forty-five and trying to run game like they fifteen. Sometimes you got to so some childish shit to get on their level."

"And Issa throwing that pussy to a _young bwah_. Bitch, you should've known better."

"We five years apart, Kelli."

"He need him a _Suga Mama, Ol' Lady, Foxy Mama, Sophisticated_ -"

"Molly, you better get Kelli before I throw Flava Flav at her ass." 

Molly stifles her laughter with a cough. 

"Fuck y'all."

"Issa, you got to also understand where he's coming from. You dating a girl, who had a history of cheating, going over to her _friend's_ house for dinner and he said he'd put in a good word for a job. Sounds suspect." Molly pipes up. 

"That's something an insecure nigga would think, though. I didn't think he'd be the insecure type."

"He a hood nigga, Issa. They all the insecure type." Kelli retorts. 

A phone buzzes. 

It's Molly's; she looks at her phone and frowns.

"Anyone...checked on Tiffany recently?"

"Not since she iced me out. Why?" Issa answers.

"She's been acting weird since she had the baby. Real...non-Tiffany. I got a text from Derek saying he needs a place to crash since Tiff kicked him out."

"What?" 

"Yeah, girl. Someone need to check on her. I'm starting to get scared."

"I'll check on her bougie ass tonight. I got to go, anyway. Due North's season two finale is on tonight and I can't miss it." 

"Don't you text us any spoilers!" Molly and Issa shout after Kelli when she slams the door.

~~~

"So, how did you know Khalil?"

"We went to school together. We've known each other since high school." Issa answers with a chuckle. The department manager smiles at her, pouring her another cup of coffee. 

The interview went surprisingly well; Issa felt comfortable and the talk about helping children through music helped hedged her bets. The department manager, Ibrahim, is someone that's on her level: a nerdy black kid who wanted to make a difference but has to settle with mediocrity. The difference between her and him is time; he's older, has a spirit that's lived here and back. He's more secure in himself and it shows. She's what her brother would call an " _old soul ass nigga_." He even got the salt and pepper dreads and beard like a Rastafarian uncle that gave advice (that no one asked for) on the front porch when she was little. He smiles at her and she's never felt safer.

"Believe it or not," He starts, stroking his beard, "I've known Khalil since he was yay-high. We were on the same block in Freeridge."

"He was from Freeridge?"

"Born and raised. Watched him grow and everything."

"How was he able to go to high school on the other side of..."

"The Prophets were trying to recruit him when he came of age and his mama snatched his lil' ass up with a quickness."

"The Prophets?" 

He snorts and held up his hand.

"Don't even trip about it. It was some gangbanger shit he had no place in and his mama did the right thing and took him out of it. He came back to visit years later with a baby and a hit record and I've never felt more proud. He's a good dude, and him recommending you to me is proof good recognize good."

"Does that mean I'm hired?" Issa asks. Ibrahim laughs a hearty laugh.

"Do oranges grow on trees?" He replies. She smiles.

Holding out his hand, he says, "Welcome Aboard."

~~~

"Alright, Spooky, get ready for crab, shrimp, _and_ steak. Guess who got a J-O-"

She pauses. 

Spooky is sitting on her couch, head in his hands. He looks up at her and Issa notices his eyes are red and swollen. She sees a noticeable hole in her wall and ice falls down her back.

"Spooky, what happened-"

"-My little brother is in the hospital, Issa. He got shot."

"Oh, shit. Are you okay?" Issa drops her groceries and sits down beside him. 

"This is my fault. All of this shit is my fault, I never should've-" Spooky balls his hands into his fists and presses them into his temples. She wraps her arms around him and pulls him close.

"You want to go visit him?" She asks.

"I can't. Cops are circling the hospital and I can't get caught up." 

"I can go...for you. I can visit him and let you know how he's doing."

"Issa-"

"-Oscar. Just...let me do this. You're upset, you're stressed, and you punched a hole in my wall. Stay here and calm down." Issa rises from the couch to grab her purse but Spooky grabs her wrist.

"I need you here with me." He whispers.

"Please...don't leave me alone."

"Okay," Issa says, sitting back down and holding his hand. 

"I'm here, Oscar. You have me, remember?"

~~~

"I'm here for..." Issa pulls up her phone, "Cesar Diaz. I'm his sister...in-law."

"I see. He's currently in the Intensive Care Unit Room 104. I'll check to see if he can see visitors. He's a little...nervous about seeing anyone other than his friends."

Issa walks to the room, holding a vase full of flowers and a Get Well Soon balloon. Cesar is lying in the hospital bed, hooked up to IV's and tubes. He sees her and props himself up.

"Who are you?" He croaks.

"Spooky's girl. Broken Pussy." Issa answers. Cesar gives a weak chuckle and relaxes, sinking into the bed.

"Nice to see you again. But, I'd like it more if I wasn't in the hospital. Oscar sent you?" 

"Yeah. He didn't want to come with all the police."

"I know. I didn't snitch if that's what you wanted to know."

"No, not at all. Just...what happened?"

"Let me ask you something," He turns to face her, his expression stern. 

"How well do you know my brother?"


	9. Hella Icy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Issa gives Spooky the cold shoulder when his past comes to haunt him...with her as collateral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you go into this chapter I want to give a shout out to all the readers that are reading this story and giving your comments. It makes me feel good knowing you guys rock with this story; it motivates me to keep writing.
> 
> I want to give a special shout-out to **_Jtownsend7, Minaswany, Latenightreader, Tatertat94_sesskag_reader, Brigette,_** and especially **_PoeticallyPissedOff_** , who is always asking questions and pointing out details that really stick with me and helped mold the story and move it along. 
> 
> I'd be nothing without you guys, thank you. And happy new year! :)

**Winter**

Darkness.

The sharp smell of tobacco and Swishers.

Her wrists bound together with zip-ties.

This is her version of Hell personified.

Issa closes her eyes and opens them again, trying to wake up from this nightmare even though she knows this is real. The blow to the back of her head and being thrown into the back of someone's car in broad daylight is fucking _real_.

Her mind is running a mile a minute; she'd just gotten kidnapped. At a fucking grocery store. In broad daylight. And nobody saw it. 

Where are they taking her? What are they going to do with her? What are they going to do _to_ her?

The car slows to a stop. She hears the doors open and someone is pulling her to her feet. 

She walks, guided with something sharp digging into her back.

Her ears pick up chatter, loud rap music, the smashing of glass bottles and dogs barking up a storm. The more she walks, the quieter the noises become. 

She stops walking and is pushed to her knees.

The black burlap sack is lifted off of her head and the scarf is yanked out of her mouth. 

As her eyes adjust to her surroundings, she zeroes in at what's in front of her and the only thing she could do, was scream.

**Three Months Ago**

_"How well do you know my brother?"_

Issa processes the question, swishing it around in her mind.

"What...do you mean...?"

"How well do you know my brother?" Cesar repeats. His face is set in stone, the Superman curl plastered to his face in sweat.

"I know...he's a Scorpio, he likes to cook, and he's...a gangbanger."

"So, not much, huh?" Cesar says, adding a bitter chuckle.

"What are you getting at, I don't understand-"

"-This," he gestures to himself in bed, "is because of him."

"I'm a little lost-"

"I don't know what side of him he shows you behind closed doors, but I know my brother. He's not who you think he is."

"Why the fuck are you talking in riddles?"

"Look, I'm telling you this because clearly you're cut out for this life, but...Oscar, Spooky, or whatever you call him in the bedroom, he recruited me to be a Santos and he had me _kill someone_. When I didn't do it, the one I didn't kill came back and killed my ex-girlfriend and injured my best friend at her _quinceañera_."

Ice falls down Issa's spine. 

Molly was just talking about her case...involving...

"Latrelle," Issa whispers to herself. She takes a seat beside Cesar, holding her head in her hands. Cesar continues speaking.

"So, Spooky, my brother, did some shit he wasn't supposed to, and...a little girl got shot in the process. On turf we weren't supposed to cross. And the dude I was supposed to kill? _He's_ in a gang, and _his gang_ came to my hood and started shooting during a _school night_. I got shot twice, and if the cops hadn't come my way the dude that did this would've put a _bullet_ ," Cesar points to his temple, "right here. This chain of events? All happened because of my brother. The only reason I'm telling you this is to tell you to get out, while you still can."

"What?"

"Leave my brother. Cut ties and skip town. You don't want to be caught up in this mess. Your hands are still clean."

"I wish it were that easy. Him and I...live together. I have a job here, I just got a place of my own. I can't...uproot myself and leave because of whatever you and your brother got going on. I have bills, I have responsibilities."

"You need to cut ties any way you can, because this shit? This shit isn't going to stop, and more bodies are going to pile up."

"This is too much-"

"-You have time. It's too late for me, but you have a chance to get out-"

"-stop, talking like that. Please. There's other ways out of this."

"Are you going to snitch to the cops-"

"-fuck no. You and I know how they get down around black and brown kids of the ghetto."

"Then what else are you thinking?"

"My friend, she's...a lawyer. She's working on Latrelle's case and she knows some of the people in Latrelle's circle."

"You know Latrelle?"

"He's all she talks about. It's like he's her son. She...needed to know who the leader of the Santos gang..." she stops herself. Spooky recruited his little brother...

"Oh, fuck." Issa whispers.

She'd been fucking the leader of the Santos. 

"I'm a mob wife." She says with a shaky breath.

Cesar snorts.

"No, but you are the girlfriend of Freeridge's #1 drug distributor. You've been fucking a _very dangerous_ , _very powerful_ , _drug dealer_ and leader of a _violent gang_. You need to let this shit sink in. If he could recruit his _little brother_ , imagine what he could use _you_ for. Don't get caught up in this; leave."

"I'll get out of this. I'll get _you_ out of this. Somehow. There's got to be a way."

"Tell me when you find it, because after a few weeks of me getting around in a _wheelchair_ , it's back to work for me."

~~~

Issa shakily finds herself at the front door of her apartment, her breath trapped in her throat. 

Cesar's words are echoing in her head and it leaves a sickly taste in her mouth. 

She opens her door and she sees Spooky. He's on her couch, sleeping, her HBCU jersey thrown over him as a blanket.

She sits down beside the couch and studies his face.

It's rare she'd see him sleep; normally when she caught him he'd be seconds from waking up and looking at his surroundings like a scared animal.

How can someone she...sleeps with, dates, could sleep so peacefully knowing what Issa knows?

She wants to slap him across the face. Slap him awake and scream. She wants to throw water in his face. She wants to force him out of her apartment and change the locks.

"Did you really do this?" She finds herself whispering, her eyes burning. Spooky stirs awake, looks at Issa and smiles. He reaches out to touch her face but Issa flinches.

"Bunny," He starts, rising from her couch. 

"What's wrong?"

"I talked with Cesar today, and...I need you to get the fuck out of my house."

"I'm sorry?" Spooky is fully awake now, his calm and playful demeanor replaced with confusion.

"Get the fuck out of my house, Oscar." Issa repeats.

"Where is this coming from-"

"-You signed him up for a _gang_ , you had him trying to _kill someone_ , you're a leader of one of the most _dangerous gangs_ in LA. How could you _sleep at night_ knowing you set your own brother up to die?"

"Watch your fucking tone, Issa. Don't talk about my brother like that. You don't know what you’re talking about." Spooky backs her to the wall with one hand, the rage in his face sending chills down Issa's spine.

"I don't think I know you at all. I know you're a gangbanger, but I didn't know you were in that deep and I didn't know that your own brother got roped into it because of you. How could you sleep next to me knowing what you did?" Issa whispers, her voice cracking. 

Spooky softens. 

"Issa, don't look at me like I'm some monster. It's not...it's not what you think-"

"-What did you do, Oscar?"

"I recruited Cesar because...other gangs were trying to get their hooks into him first. When I got locked up, I heard other gangs were plotting on recruitment around my block. _Dangerous_ gangs. Gangs that make Santos look like _amateurs_. Everything you think I did, they've done worse. I've seen it.” Spooky runs his hand over his face and sighs before making eye contact once more. “If Cesar had turned them down when they came around recruiting, he would've came up _missing_. I signed my brother up to _my gang_ for protection. Everything I did, everything I'm _doing_ , is for him. Don’t ever think different.”

“What about the girl, Oscar?” Issa whispers. Spooky bites his lip.

“My brother...my brother didn’t do what I asked and he left a mess for me to clean up. I went into Prophet territory because, someone had to pay for what happened at the quinceanera. A Prophet shooting on Santos territory is asking for trouble, especially in a civilian’s house,” 

Spooky looks up to the ceiling; Issa notices his adam’s apple bob as he swallows. The hand used to hold her in place slides up from her collarbone and thumbs her jawline as if in apology. The two face each other again; Spooky’s expression is devoid of malice but...vulnerability. Regret. _Pain._

Issa suddenly feels like she’s suffocating.

“I got caught up in a gunfight, and a little girl got hit in the crossfire. I didn’t know until the girl’s brother came into my hood and shot Cesar in retaliation.”

“Fuck, Oscar-”

“-I know, Issa. I fucked up. I fucked up and my little brother is in the hospital _because_ I fucked up. I know how this looks but you gotta put yourself in my shoes. You don’t know what it’s like being me.”

“Oscar...please tell me that little girl is…”

“I don’t know all the details because it’s word on the street, but...she’s alive. Paramedics got to her in time.”

“I think you should go.” Issa says. Spooky’s face falters.

“Issa-”

“You need to go. This? What we had between us? It’s over.” Issa interrupts, jerking out of Spooky’s hold and walking to the door. 

“Issa, you don’t have to do this.” Spooky says after her.

“Get out.” Issa says over her shoulder. She unlocks the door and flings the door open. 

It’s dark, the cheap apartment lights reflect heavy rain. The cold air makes the two bristle. Spooky walks over to her, his hand clutching the door frame. The two stare at each other in relative silence, the steady rain and their breathing being the only thing heard. 

_“Bunny.”_ He pleads softly. He tries to move in closer but Issa flinches.

“If you don’t leave...I’ll call the police.”

He knows she’s bluffing, but the disappointment is still on his face. He exhales through his nose, shaking his head at her. 

He gives her one last look before walking out in the rain. She watches him go; when he disappears down the steps she shuts the door and cries against it.

~~~~~

Two weeks have passed; Issa hasn’t seen or heard from Spooky since. She finds herself waking up in her bed, expecting to smell Irish Spring or feel his arms wrapped around her body but instead finds herself alone in her bed. 

Some of his things are still here; she, against her better judgement, hoards them. She smells his t-shirts that still got his cologne on them, fingers the piece of jewelry he got her that’s still in its box; he’d bought it for her as a gift but she begged him to return it because it was too expensive. 

Issa shuffles through her apartment, preparing her breakfast and checking her phone. There’s zero notifications and she has an hour before work. 

Sighing deeply, she makes her way into the bathroom and gets dressed.

Her shift flies by her; customers pass by her in colors. When she’s cleaning the tubas she notices a group of black kids talking amongst themselves, laughing and listening to music from their tinny phone speaker. She’s minding her business until she hears, 

“When I see that nigga Spooky, I’ma bust a nine in his dome. On God, I’ma dead that nigga.”

She almost knocked over the tubas when she turned her whole body. 

They look no older than Cesar…

Cesar…

Issa marches over to them and snatches one of them by the jacket. The kids gasp and shout.

“Which one of y’all said it? Don’t think about calling the managers because this is black-owned and we enforce ass-whoopings here.” Issa says. The child she holds up shakily points to the black boy wearing all green.

“You’s a snitch, Kamali.”

“You ain’t got a black mama, Jeremy; when a black woman gives you that look,” the kid held up nods to Issa, “you ain’t want no smoke.”

Issa gently lands the boy on the ground and snatches the green boy instead.

“I’ma say this once; don’t you _ever_ in your life talk like that. You don’t know _what the fuck_ you talking about-”

“-Man, shut up, bitch! This is Prophet life, hoe!” Jeremy replies. His friends laugh. 

“Shouldn’t you be taking vitamins and cleaning tubas? Old ass getting into people’s business when they should be working they minimum wage job!” Another kid adds.

Okay, that stung, Issa thought. She zeroes in on Jeremy.

“Look here, you little… _eye-sore_ of a color scheme...I’m literally trying to help you before your little _dumbass_ fuck around and get killed.” Issa hisses. She hoists him up even higher. 

“You are talking about _murdering_ someone in a _public place_ where _anybody_ could hear. If the _wrong person_ heard you the cops would’ve snatched your little _hood leprechaun_ ass up on a _conspiracy to commit murder_ charge!” She whispers. The kids shrink back from Issa in fear. 

“Or, it could be an associate of _Spooky_ that could’ve heard you and report it back to him and before you know it you wind up _missing_. You need to shut the fuck up and get your narrow ass up out of this...Prophet shit before you become a _hashtag_!” 

“I think he got the point, Issa. Put him down.”

Issa turns around. 

Ibrahim stands behind her, broom perched on his shoulder like it’s a weapon. Jeremy looks at Ibrahim and his eyes widen like saucers. Issa puts him down and Jeremy scrambles to gain his composure.

“Run along, Jeremy. You get your ass home before the clock strikes five I just might reconsider calling your mama and telling her you been disrespecting women her age.”

Issa looks at Ibrahim and he whispers, _“Teen mom.”_

“Okay.” Issa nods. 

“Y-y-yes sir.” Jeremy sputters out. He looks at Issa and lets out a “sorry, Miss Issa.” 

Issa shuts her eyes tightly.

Jeremy mumbles and sprints out of the music store. The remaining kids eye the two adults with confusion on their faces. 

“Now,” Ibrahim throws down the broom and unscrews the handle from the broom itself.

“You either buy something or get your asses out. You choice.” He says to them. The kids look at each other.

They all suck their teeth.

“Man, ion even like these bum ass, busted ass-”

“-cheap ass, whack ass, bootsy ass, ugly ass-”

“-mark ass equipment. Let’s go. I’ma tell my mama about you and write a Yelp review!” The kids say, walking out the store. One flips the two off before exiting.

“Classy. Real classy.” Issa says.

“They kids. Just...dumbass kids.” Ibrahim hums. 

“Am I in trouble for...basically assaulting a child?”

“Not at all. I got the tail end of it but I heard what you were trying to do. You could’ve reported him and got him locked up, but you didn’t; you snatched his ass up and tried to talk sense into him. What his parents should’ve done.” Ibrahim sucks his teeth. 

“Why was that little boy afraid of you?”

“Because I been there since he was in diapers. His dad and I go way back.”

Issa senses deceit in that answer, but doesn’t push it any further. 

~~~

Thanksgiving is coming.

As much as she’d like to spend it at her mother’s in LA she’s stuck with zero plans. Molly is off on a business trip; some team-building exercise the company insisted on, she says. She’d Facetime but Issa has a Samsung, which earns the ire of Molly on so many levels.

Kelli is a definite hell no, not after what happened the last time they spent Thanksgiving with Kelli’s folks in Miami; Issa swears her grandmother cursed the food to this day.

She then remembers Khalil; Khalil weeks prior insisted she spend Thanksgiving with him and his son since his wife is meeting with her family in Vermont. She wants to say no but her stomach is growling at the memory of their Senior Year where he cooked the class a four-course meal as his Home Economics project. Of course that nigga earned an A+; who the hell creates a caramelized duck chops and entrees that got names she can’t even pronounce for a little ass Thanksgiving project? And his croquembouche with the chocolate glaze? The cavity was worth it. 

She dials Khalil’s number and unsurprisingly it goes to voicemail; she leaves one, short and sweet and gets ready for another shift.

She stops at a deli for her lunch. She’s in line when she notices a sight that makes her heart sink. 

Nathan.

Nathan is sitting near the wall, typing something on his laptop, a cup of coffee untouched. He’s focused, those green eyes making her flashback to the Ferris Wheel. Those hands used to do things to her that’d make her imagine his last name going with her first. Those lips that felt so soft when he kissed her…

He’s wearing a beard and grey sweatpants.

God is testing her.

It seems her staring caught his attention; he looks up and sees her.

The tension is so thick you could slice it; Issa has so many things stuck in her throat but can’t get them out.

“Hey, Issa.” He says.

“Hey.” She answers.

“You look...good.” He assesses, eyeing her up and down. 

Why did he have to see her in her work uniform? And these ugly ass orthopedic shoes…

“You too.” She nods her head. Nathan juts his chin up at the counter.

Issa turns to the worker eyeing her with a judgy smirk before asking, “So, what do you want to order?”

~~~

“You got a blexican baby yet?” 

“No, Thug Yoda. Me and Spooky aren’t really...talking.”

“Word?” 

“We...broke up. I think.”

Issa lies in the front seat, eating a sandwich Thug Yoda was kind enough to buy. The trip ends with Thug Yoda’s destination being his new apartment in Freeridge, much to Issa’s discomfort. Thug Yoda licks his fingers and digs into his bag of Hot Cheetohs. 

“I see him almost every other day. I’d think y’all together.”

“It’s… _bomplicated_. I’d tell you but I know how hood niggas are about their girl telling their business.”

“Respect it. But I think y’all will get over it. Spooky a good dude; there’s nothing that horrible that will make me not see it for y’all. You ain’t understand owing to the fact that you ain’t from where him and I from. You started eating _Bup o’ Noodles_ when you was in _bollege_ , you feel me?”

“No…?”

“I’m just saying...you privileged, and you not able to understand the shit he has to do to make it.”

Thug Yoda yawns and stretches. 

“I’m ‘bout to head on in. Five stars like always.” He tells her, closing the door and heading into his apartment. 

Issa watches him disappear behind the gate and starts her car. She drives one block and winds up at a corner store to get herself a soda to wash down her meal. She’s walking aimlessly down the aisles, touching the bags of chips and checking the prices of gum before settling on a bottle of grape soda and a bag of Doritos. For the culture, she tells herself. Before she could pull out her wallet someone slams a five on the counter.

“Keep the change.”

She looks up.

Spooky. He’s wearing a hoodie, dark jeans and sneakers that look like they’re on their last leg. His shades are still on, even in nighttime.

Before she could object, he hands her her goods before pulling out a malt liquor bottle and paying for it. 

 

“So...you just gon’ act like that?”

Silence. 

“Am I a ghost? Hello?” She calls out after him. He’s walking away from her, Issa hot on his trail. 

“Spooky, I want to talk to you.”

They’re at his car now. He stops and turns to face her. 

“Talk.” He says. 

“I know things ended on bad terms. But there’s no reason for you to be so cold and act like this.”

“Why are you here?”

“I had a Lyft ride I had to make. He lives around here.”

“Yoda?”

“Thug Yoda.”

“I call him Yoda.”

“Don’t you mean _ball_ him Yoda?” Issa jokes, but it falls flat. 

“I got to go, Issa. So you can go back to living your life. It’s over, remember?”

“Spooky-”

He holds up his hand. 

“Go home, Issa. It gets dangerous after twelve-”

“-I miss you.”  
He’s halfway in his car when he stops. The two hold each other’s gazes, Spooky appearing like he wants to say something. For what felt like forever, he gets all the way into his car, slams the door, rolls his windows up, and turns his car on. When his loud rap music blares and he peels off into the street, Issa is left under the streetlights, feeling more alone than the night he walked out of her apartment and never came back.

~~~

Thanksgiving rolled around quickly; Issa is helping herself to the food Khalil prepared and cooked. Khalil’s son is watching cartoon Thanksgiving specials while Issa and Khalil join him on the couch, glasses of spiced pumpkin drink in their hands. 

“Glad you could make it, Iss. Like Senior Year all over again.” He smiles at her. 

“Yeah, only I can take leftovers home and actually eat them all.” she jokes back.

The night stretches on and when Khalil’s son is in bed Issa’s feet are on Khalil’s lap. They’re watching reruns of Due North, Issa about to nod off on his couch.

“It’s good having you here, Iss.” Khalil says. 

“Of course. You can cook.” Issa slurs. 

“Alright, sleepy.” Khalil chides, throwing her feet off his lap. He leaves and comes back with a blanket and throws it over her.

“Good night, Issa.” He tells her, before leaving her in the living room. 

She wakes up on Khalil’s couch and the smell of pancakes.

Khalil’s back is to her, wearing an apron and whistling a cheery tune. 

“Good morning, sleepy.” He greets over his shoulder.

“What time is it?” Issa moans. 

“10:45AM.” He answers.

“Shit! I’m late to work. I told Ibrahim I’ll be there to open-”

“-Chill. Don’t stress about it. I’ll call and tell him you at my place and you overslept.”

“Wouldn’t he assume we...slept together?”

“Nah. He knows I’m way to loyal to my ol’ lady and...you got someone, right?”

“No, not...anymore.” Issa rubs her face. Morning breath is _not_ the business.

“Hey...we can grab breakfast and I’ll drop you off there so you can chill. Okay?”

“What am I gonna wear, Khalil?”

“Umm...there’s a shirt and some pants you could wear. I don’t know about the panties, so you might have to go au naturale.”

“Whoa!”

“Hey, I’m keeping it real. I’d loan you my wife’s clothes but...I don’t think you can fit ‘em and I don’t want her thinking I’m cheating.”

“I get it,” Issa grumbles. She rises from the couch and shuffles her way down the hall.

“Bathroom’s on the right-hand side!” Khalil calls after her.

~~~

“You good?” 

Issa is at the entrance to the music store. Ibrahim is helping a customer and he does _not_ look pleased.

“Yeah.” Issa answers. Khalil swoops her into a deep hug.

“Go get ‘em.” He says after her. He leaves the mall, and Issa turns to her job and walks in, trying to shake the feeling that someone is watching her.

 

**Present, Two Hours Earlier**

Issa pushes her shopping cart through the aisles, checking off boxes on the list on her phone. She’s cooking herself a bachelorette meal tonight; grilled salmon, rice pilaf with some salad and a glass of wine to top it off. She’s been taking notes from Molly’s playbook, she’ll admit it. 

As she pushes down the aisle she feels those pairs of eyes again digging into the small of her back. She whips her head and those eyes are gone, disappeared into the five shoppers studying prices for cereal. 

She starts walking faster, pushing her cart and trying to stop her heart pounding out her chest. 

She’s been feeling, since Thanksgiving morning, that she’s being watched. She can’t explain it, but she feels she’s not alone wherever she’s at. She’d been avoiding public places but the eyes won’t stop; she can’t even press charges without people thinking she’s crazy or, if they dig deep enough, think she’s tied in whatever crimes Spooky does when he’s not in her apartment…

Spooky.

Did he have people keep tabs on her to make sure she won’t snitch?

Is he stalking her?

Is Spooky the stalker type?

Is he one of those men that break into their ex-girlfriend’s house and steals their panties? Come to think of it her green ones _are_ missing…

A shopping cart blocks her down the dog food aisle. 

She turns around and another shopping cart blocks the other aisle. 

Men in hoodies come down the aisle, walking towards her.

So, is this what’s going on? Is she gonna get kidnapped?

One man stops in front of her.

“Come with us.” He says.

Issa pushes her shopping cart against the man and takes off, hopping over the shopping cart only to trip and fall near the frozen food aisle. She scrambles out of the grocery store and sprints to her car, only to find her car blocked in.

“Shit!” Issa screams. The men in hoodies are coming back; she takes off down the street, but learns that’s what they wanted because the second she hit that corner a black van pulls up, opens the door, and throws her inside. Before she could scream, a gag is forced into her mouth and a black burlap sack is thrown over her head.

When her wrists are bound together and feels a barrel of a gun pointed at her side, she knew whatever is going to happen, is _not_ good.


	10. Hella New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Issa becomes the key to Santos and Prophets reaching peace.

**Present**

Issa lets out a scream she didn't know she had.

There, sitting amongst guns, drugs, and money, is Ibrahim. 

He's dressed in a green shirt and green sweatpants, his knuckled hands clutching a gun. 

"Hello, Issa. I wish we'd met on better terms, but it has to be this way." He tells her.

"What...why...the store..."

"I won't waste your time, so I'll keep this short. I've been watching you. It's one thing to interact with a Santos, but to _hire_ one?" Ibrahim lets out a laugh. 

"Man, oh man, you got me fooled."

"I'm not a...Santos. I'm not in any gang-"

"-You Spooky's girl. You a Santos, babygirl. Whether you want to believe it or not." 

"Are you going to kill me?"

"Kill you?" Ibrahim laughs a hearty laugh.

"I'm not gonna kill you. I was, until I watched you and I was amazed. You ain't what I expected. You... _inspire_ me. Taught me something new."

"And...what would that be?"

"That, for all intents and purposes, this beef between Prophets and Santos is old and tired.”

Gasps and whispers break out in the room. 

“I've been a Prophet my whole life until I got locked up and converted to Islam. The qu'ran teaches you things that make you a better person and a better leader. I think it's time for a new start."

“What’s the new start?”

“Ending the feud between the Prophets and the Santos and joining forces.” 

Contention and disagreements erupt. Ibrahim waves his hand to silence them.

“I know that they have been our sworn enemy but the violence has to stop. Your old leader may have ran it this way but he’s gone and I’ve gotten out the clink to reclaim my throne. There’s no end to this and it’s going to get worse until more innocent people are dead. It is not worth it, my brothers. We have to find peace and coexist.”

“Prophet Ibrahim, I mean no disrespect but...I have concerns.” A man says. He bows on one knee before Ibrahim.

“Address them.” Ibrahim prompts.

“The Santos have a history of their hatred of Prophets. It goes all the way back to the 70s when they tried to push black folks out of LA and failed. To try to make peace with them is to turn our back on their racism.”

“-I’m aware of their history of racism against our kind. I understand that there’s some of them who still feel that way but trust me, this,” he points to Issa, “is proof times are changing. The original Santos of old are gone. I outlived them all and I’m forty-five years old. Their ways are dying slowly and their new leader, Spooky, is nothing like them. He’s a thinker, he gets shit done, and...frankly he and his brother got a thing for the sistas.” He eyes Issa up and down.

“A dark-skinned sista at that. He must’ve heard the saying, _‘the blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice’_.” 

Issa shuts her eyes.

Oh, he one of _those_.

“Spooky and his girl are evidence times are changing and we can start fresh.”

“Ibrahim, I don’t think an _interracial couple_ is going to cure generational racism. It never worked with white people and their mixed-baby fetish and it sure won’t for my black ass dating a Mexican gangbanger.”

“No, but it’s a step in the right direction to the streets not being paved with bloodshed.” Ibrahim lands his hand on Issa’s shoulder.

“You can talk Spooky into meeting with me and coming to a truce. He will listen to you, he will see reason and he will do what’s needed to fix what he started.”

“And what did he start?”

“A war between the Santos and the Prophets. It’s about to begin and let me say, it’s about to get ugly.”

“What do you want me to do?” 

“Easy. You’re his woman. Do whatever you do that’ll make him do what you want and get his ass here.” 

~~~

Issa’s dropped off at the entrance to her apartment with her purse and her shaking body. On autopilot, she makes her way up the stairs and tries to unlock the door but can’t find her keys. She leans on the door for support, only for the door to open. She cautiously walks in and sees none other than Spooky, sitting on her couch, gun aimed at her. He sees her, drops the gun and runs to pull her into a tight embrace.

“Bunny.” He says in her hair. 

Emotions and feelings flood her, the words aren’t coming fast enough and she cries. She cries and pulls him closer, sobbing into his shirt and coming undone. He picks her up and takes her to the bed. 

They lie in bed together, holding one another. Spooky nuzzles his nose against the crook of her neck and he kisses it. He pulls her closer and he whispers to himself in Spanish. From Molly’s pitiful teachings and context clues, Issa pieces together what he says.

_I missed you._

_I can’t believe I have you in my arms again._

_**I love you.** _

She couldn’t believe her ears until he says it again.

_I love you._

_I love you so much._

He says it over and over, each time his voice straining from holding back. She can feel his cross dig into her collarbone, his belt buckle biting into the flesh of her lower back. 

“I’m not letting you out of my sight again,” He growls out in English.

“Those Prophets are going to pay for touching you.”

“Spooky-”

“-kidnapping you at a fucking _grocery store_. I’m going to find each one responsible and slit their fucking throat-”

“-how did you know I was-”

“-I kept tabs on you. I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

“Did you steal my green panties?”

“Did you fall asleep wearing my shirt?”

Pause. 

“And I didn’t steal them. They were in my back pocket when you kicked me out.”

“Why did you have them in the first place?”

“I did your laundry and I wanted you to wear them for me when you got home. Sage green looks good on you.”

“Why were you cold to me at the corner store?”

“I was in my feelings, Issa. My woman kicked me out of her apartment in the pouring rain. You were the first woman to ever...dump me. It’s usually the other way around.” 

“Why were you here?”

“I heard you got snatched up at a grocery store, so I went snooping through your apartment for clues to find you. I wanted to get to you before the coroners did.”

“That’s...pretty morbid.”

“It’s the real world, Issa.”

“Spooky...I may not understand what’s going on with your world but...it wound up on my doorstep. The leader of the Prophets propose a sit-down and he wanted to ask you through me.”

“What?” Spooky rises from the bed.

“He kidnapped me to ask me to talk to you about it.”

“Fuck no am I talking to a Prophet…”

“Spooky...he says the Santos and the Prophets are going to start a war and innocent people are going to get hurt if you two don’t work it out.”

“It’s been that way since before I was born-”

“-Spooky, he’s much older than the both of us. He’s seen things and he even said he’s willing to talk. He spoke highly of you.” 

“Since _when_ is a Prophet a _kiss-ass_?”

“Spooky, he’s a grown-ass man that wants to handle shit like an adult! You’re judging him but you don’t even know him, you don’t even know what he looks like.”

“Bunny, I’m glad you’re safe but I think they hit you on the head and got you thinking you something you not. Stay out of this.”

“Too late. I’m in this, Spooky. I’ve been in this since the day you claimed me.”

“Oh, so this shit is _my_ fault?”

“Yes!” Issa shouts. Spooky looks at her like she’d grown five heads. She gains her composure.

“Spooky...you have to _stop_ doing shit without thinking about the long-term consequences! I’m not trying to tell you how to live your life, but...everyone around you is getting hurt because of your actions.” Issa grabs his hands.

“Your little brother’s friends got shot at their own house. Your little brother has to get around in a wheelchair and he might be walking with a limp for the rest of his life, a little girl got shot, and just a few months ago I had to snatch a little boy up because he thought about _killing_ you.” Her eyes well up in tears.

“At what point in your life do you realize enough is _enough_? Think about your _pride_ is costing you.”

Spooky pauses and sits at the edge of the bed, head in his hands. He looks up at her, hands clasped under his chin.

“Set it up.” He says.


	11. Hella Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ibrahim and Spooky talk about the truce.

Issa holds onto the sink for dear life. Spooky is behind her, gripping her hips and slamming against him with those deep strokes that hit her spot and makes her scream. 

He growls, pulling her hair back and making her look at them in the mirror. 

Issa looks at herself: mascara running down her face, her hair pulled back by Spooky’s hand, her mouth open and glossed with spit and her eyes glassy with need. Her shirt is bunched up over where her bra should be; her bra now is draped over the sink, held by her shaky arms. 

She sees Spooky staring back at her, his hazel eyes dark with something she could never quite describe. Is it Aggression? Lust? Need?

Whatever it is, it’s doing the job as he’s whispering filthy shit in her ear that makes her walls tighten around his dick.

“You like it when I fuck you in the mirror? Huh?” He asks in her ear, his strokes getting faster and sloppy. 

“Say my name, Issa. Say my fucking name.” He hisses, wrapping his hand around Issa’s throat and squeezing. 

Any other situation when a dude choked her during sex was cause for her to call the police and run, but her, right now, getting fucked over her bathroom sink by a man who knows how to—

“Daddy!” Issa gasps when Spooky strokes her clit with his thumb.

“Oh, shit. Say that shit again. _Say that shit again, **bitch**_.” Spooky growls out before biting the spot where her neck and shoulder meet. 

Issa feels her orgasm coming; she shuts her eyes and lets go.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” She whines out. Her orgasm rips through her body and she falls slack against him, her legs shaking. 

He thrusts steadier, his breaths becoming shakier and needy.

“Mine, you’re fucking mine, all mine,” he groans against her before cumming, biting into her neck so hard she swears he broke skin. He peppers her neck with soft kisses while sliding out of her, condom still intact. 

Spooky holds her, looking at themselves in the mirror with his arms wrapped around her waist.

“Fuck we look good together.” He muses, kissing her temple. Issa is already sliding on her panties and adjusting her bra. 

“Go shower.” Issa says. She digs through the dirty clothes hamper and tosses on his shirt. 

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“That’s not an option. I don’t want you at risk of getting hurt or seeing shit you weren’t supposed to see.”

“Spooky, I can—”

“No. You’re going to stay where you are; you’ve already gotten in too deep and I don’t want you to go any deeper. What about your job?”

“I’m not working today. My manager...closed it for the day. Important business meeting he has to go to about...his company.”

Spooky nods his head. 

“But Spooky, I’m going whether you want me to or not. I think me being there would make sure nothing gets out of hand.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Look...y’all got this need to show whose dick is bigger and that’s how wars get started. Y’all need a voice of reason.”

“Isn’t that sexist?”

“Name five women that started wars.”

“...Get your coat.”

~~~

Issa sits next to Spooky, the lone woman in a room filled with men that are eyeing her like they’d never seen one a day in their life. This meeting is held in a goddamn Roscoe’s; it smells faintly of grease and syrup. Ibrahim sits across from them, helping himself to tea and toast. Issa tries not to squirm in her seat; it’s hard to look at someone whom she once respected, knowing he at one point thought about killing her because of her affiliation with Spooky. 

“I appreciate you taking the time out of your schedule to meet with me. I hope Issa filled you in on what this meeting is for.” Ibrahim says over his tea. 

Spooky nods his head and grunts.

“You want peace, a truce.” He says. Ibrahim nods.

“This violence got to stop, my brotha. Too many innocent people are getting hurt and it could be detrimental to our communities in the long run. We make peace, come together and help one another and I guarantee it’ll be prosperous.”

“What details are in the truce you propose?”

“Prophets aren’t allowed to shoot a Santos on any ground and Santos vice versa. We help each other in our neighborhoods by offering each other protection, safety, and we govern ourselves before police interfere. What would you want on your end of the treaty?”

“I want a cut of your profits in sales. Prophets are hitting up Santos’ turf and it’s cutting into our money.” 

“Well, you know how the saying goes, _my dinero es su dinero_. We combine our forces and all get a share of profits. Everyone can get a piece of the pie.”

“How much of the pie is what I want to know.”

“Fifty-fifty down the middle. We operate as one gang.”

Chatter and shouts of protest erupt in the restaurant. Ibrahim holds up his hand. 

“United we stand, divided we fall,” he recites.

“There’s smaller gangs that are growing and getting bold enough to make their way on our turf. Prophets and Santos working as one? A force to be reckoned with.”

“That’s never been done before. We do this and we erase the history of our gang.” Spooky contests.

“We not erasing anything, brotha. We are changing course of tradition and trying something new. We work together as a unit, not as separate entities that clash. We work as one, we fight as one, we live and die as one.”

“That’s a no for me. Yes to everything else, but us being one monolith?. That’s spitting in the face of the _original veteranos_ that came before me.” 

The moment of truth. 

Ibrahim doesn’t even flinch. He squeezes the lemon into his cup of tea and sips. 

“For now, that’s off the table. But everything else of the treaty still stands. We got a truce or not?” 

Issa starts to sweat.

“Don’t sell on our turf, don’t start no shit, and you got a truce.”

Issa lets out a breath she didn’t know she had. 

“Truce it is.” Ibrahim announces with a soft smile. The two men shake hands, both never losing eye contact. Despite the gesture, Issa can’t help but feel the tension between the two. 

“Now,” Ibrahim says, still shaking his hand, “let’s seal the deal in blood.”

“Wait is that even necessary-”

“-Let’s do it.” Spooky cuts her off.

“Meet me in the back. Issa,” Ibrahim nods his head at her, “you more than welcome to come, but I warn you, this not for the squeamish.”

“What the hell are you guys going to do?” Issa asks.

“What we always do when two feuding families come to a truce; fight it out.” Spooky answers. He throws off his shirt and chucks it at Issa.

“Hold this.” He tells her, following Ibrahim to the back of the store.

Issa trails after, holding his shirt like a lifeline as she watches two grown ass men circle each other like lions in a den. Ibrahim has since taken off his shirt, revealing a fading tattoo of the Prophet symbol on his chest. Despite Spooky already having an intimidating appearance, he has a regular physique that is dwarfed by Ibrahim’s muscular frame. 

Spooky just might get his ass handed to him. 

Ibrahim swings force; his fist colliding with Spooky’s jaw with a force so strong Issa felt it in her soul. But, Spooky doesn’t seem fazed, he’s actually…

_Smiling_.

When he gets into position, fists held up and his body bouncing on the balls of his feet, that’s when Issa knew why people are afraid of him.

He pounces, throwing fists so quick Issa couldn’t see them but heard those fists make contact with their target. 

Ibrahim’s swings are calculated and heavy, but Spooky’s hits are unpredictable and brutal. The two are cracking ribs, busting lips, landing uppercuts and sharp jabs that make noise on impact. Issa’s forced to take it in, watching with a mix of horror and intrigue as these two duke it out like gladiators, their arena being the back of a Roscoe’s where Prophets and Santos gang members are standing side by side shouting at the two fighters to win, some even tossing money at them.

“What in the Fight Club hell...?” Issa muses, the blood and gore since lost its effect on her when a bloodied Spooky charges at a waning Ibrahim and lands a blow to the temple. _Shit_ that’s got to do some damage. 

In a matter of seconds, the two fighters drop to their knees to catch their breath, the fight in them long gone. In the strangest turn of events, they’re laughing together, tossing an arm over one another and _laughing_ as they stand up. 

“As of today, my brothas _and_ my sista, Prophets and Santos’ feud is ova!” Ibrahim announces to the crowd, holding Spooky’s fist in the air among cheers.

~~~

“Ah! Fuck, Issa!” Spooky hisses. Issa dabs his cheek with another round of antiseptic anyway. 

“Well, whose fault was that, Mike Tyson?” She asks him. 

Spooky is sitting on the toilet seat, his raw knuckles bandaged up and his torso littered with bruises of all different colors and sizes, his sides getting the worst of it. His right cheek is swollen from the first blow Ibrahim landed; Issa already got most of the swelling down with ice.

Spooky snorts, grabbing her hands and kissing them. 

“Thank you.” He says. She hums. 

“Come here.” He adds, pulling her to his lap. Kneading her ass, he lands soft kisses on her neck.

“You sure you should be doing anymore strenuous activity?” Issa giggles, stroking his shaved head. She gasps when he licks her collarbone. He grinds against her, his licks and kisses turning into bites and sucks.

“I wonder if I can give you a hickey, right,” he licks where her jugular vein pops out, “here.”

“I think you need to get your freaky ass some sleep so you can rest that concussion you probably got.” Issa counters, dismounting him. He sucks his teeth.

“Guess I’ll take a cold shower, first.” He says.


	12. Hella Helpful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Issa makes it up with Tiffany, with the help of Spooky and Cesar.

After Issa showers and gets dressed, she makes her way to the front door and stops when her phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Issa, I need to talk to you. Now. I’m on my way to your house.”

“Molly, I was just about to head out the door-“

“-Issa, .”

“Bitch, you did _WHAT_?” Issa scream-whispered through the phone. She turns her head and sees Spooky leaning against the wall, keys clutched in his hand and his eyebrow touching his hairline.

“Issa, I need to talk to you. I...I fucked up.” Molly says through the phone. 

“Issa?” Molly asks.

Issa pauses. 

“Come over.” She says.

She hangs up the phone shortly after. 

“Something came up?” Spooky asks. 

“It’s Molly. She needs to talk to me about something.”

“Alright. I’m ‘bout to head out anyway. I’ll see you tonight and cook dinner.” He answers. He lands a kiss on her forehead and heads out the door. When he opens the door, Molly storms in.

“Bitch, were you parked outside?” Issa asks.

“Yes, Issa! I need to talk about this!” Molly pants, pacing back and forth. 

“Goodbye, ladies.” Spooky says over his shoulder before closing the door behind him, leaving the two women alone.

“So...walk me through what the fuck happened.” Issa begins. Molly takes a seat on the couch.

“I don’t even know where to begin. Tiffany went off the deep end, Issa. Her house is a mess, Derek is nowhere to be found and Tiff...Candice and Dro were there taking care of her...and Candice stayed the night and insisted Dro and I go home.  
“She insisted I drive him home since she got the car. So...we were driving, and we were talking, and one thing led to another-“

“-Molly-“

“-I know I was wrong. But it… _happened_. It happened and after the fact I told him that it was a one time thing and it would never happen again.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he understood, but he said it in a way that made it seem like I was lying. He was...cocky about it.”

“Well if you know it’s going to be a one-time thing, then it’s going to be a one-time thing. Right?”

“...”

“Right?”

“...”

“ _Molly_!”

“I don’t know, Issa.”

“What the _fuck_ , Molly. You’re in a whole ass relationship-“

“-that didn’t stop you from slipping and falling on Daniel’s dick!”

“And look where it got me; Lawrence and I _broke up_. And it was an _ugly_ breakup. That’s pain you don’t want to wish on anyone.”

“I don’t want you judging me-“

“Molly you’re supposed to know better than me. You watched a five-year relationship fall apart because of a mistake.”

“What do I do, Issa?”

“Tell Andrew.”

“ _What?_ Bitch are you crazy?”

“Remember what happened when I tried to keep my cheating a secret? Daniel came to my job and Lawrence put two and two together. Andrew isn’t stupid; he’ll figure it out.”

“Issa, if he knows I cheated...our relationship is over before it could even start. Why can’t it be like our grandparents where if you cheated, it was a kept secret and it only came out when you are in your casket?”

“Bitch, because we got social media and we know better. If you come clean and tell him, there’s a chance he might take you back because you were honest. It’s better if he hears it from you from someone else, like Dro.”

“Dro is not the type to kiss and tell.”

“You know as well as I do niggas do shit they’d never do when they’re bitter. And Dro? He’s _salt and vinegar_ bitter. He would do some shit like that given the circumstances.”

“I’ll...I’ll tell Andrew. When the time is right-“

“Tell him ASAP. Because the more you sit on it the more painful that bandaid is going to be when you rip it off.”

“Okay, Issa. I’ll...do it.” Molly massages her temples. 

“I think I was just stressed out over this case with Latrelle. It’s taking a toll on me.”

“What happened?” Issa asks.

“His stubborn ass wants to take the fifteen years over the eight. He said he’s not a snitch and he specifically told me not to snitch on his behalf. He’s afraid of what would happen to him if word got out about him snitching.”

“That’s a valid concern, Mol.”

“I know, it’s just...he’s a fifteen year old kid. When he gets out, his entire childhood is gone and he’ll be forced to adapt to a new world. Who knows what’ll happen in fifteen years?”

“He should’ve thought about that before he went into someone’s party and started shooting.”

“From what Latrelle told me, some snot-nosed punk started it. He called himself _‘Lil Spooky’_ and said he’d _‘blast on his ass’_ for disrespecting his girlfriend. Then this Lil Spooky kid cornered him in the bathroom and was about to kill him until he begged for his life. You got a self-defense argument, but it’s not enough to hold up in court. The whole situation is unfair as fuck. This wouldn’t have happened if that little asshole didn’t run his mouth.”

“They’re kids, Molly. Kids do stupid shit.”

“Okay and this stupid shit involves one girl dead and the boy needing therapy for PTSD. This is such an ugly case and looking at the crime scene photos everyday in court-” Molly rubs her forehead with her palms. 

“All of this could’ve been avoided if both of them weren’t involved in gangs. I offered to get this Lil Spooky in on the charges to lighten Latrelle’s load but again, he wouldn’t snitch. So Lil Spooky is out somewhere doing who knows what while Latrelle rots in prison.”

 _Lil Spooky is at his house right now, popping pain medication to deal with the side effects of his gunshot injuries,_ Issa thinks, but keeps to herself.

She’d visited Cesar shortly after the treaty was in full effect; he walks with a limp, has a large scar of where the doctors sliced into to retrieve the bullets on his abdomen, and is racked with guilt and shame of his ex-girlfriend dying and his best friend no longer speaking to him. He’d lost his girlfriend, his best friend, and a sliver of his health.

He paid a price, too. 

~~~

Spooky comes back hours later. He finds Molly lying on the couch and his irritation doesn’t try to be subtle.

“She staying for dinner?” He asks Issa. He’s chopping bell peppers now. Issa looks over at Molly.

“I was just leaving, unless you got room for one more plate? Issa told me you know your way around the kitchen.”

The knife he’d been holding stabs into the chopping board. The two women jump. 

Spooky sharply exhales and resumes chopping the vegetables.

“I think you lowkey implied he’s the woman of the house,” Issa whispers.

“And he took offense to that? Girl, this ain’t the 50s anymore.”

“He’s a hood nigga, Molly. You know they filled with...masculinity and shit.”

As if on cue, Spooky comes into the living room...wearing an apron with Nicki Minaj fanart on it. Molly’s eyes widen and her lips tighten, trying to stifle a laugh. Issa finds nothing amusing about Spooky wearing an apron; the shit actually looks...bizarre. This pink apron, filled with frills and Nicki Minaj’s cartoon ass in her Anaconda costume, clashes with Spooky’s black t-shirt with baggy dark-blue jeans and gray canvas sneakers. His natural resting bitch face makes the whole look look...even stranger.

“I’m making pot roast and my dumbass forgot to get the ingredients for the chocolate cranberry muffins I’m baking tonight. Issa, call Cesar and tell him to come here with the shit I need so I can cook.”

“Why won’t you let Molly and I go to the store-”

“After what happened last time? _Fuck no._ ” Spooky says. 

“What happened last time?” Molly asks. Issa freezes. 

“It’s complicated.” Spooky and Issa say in unison. 

~~~

“If I’d known I’d be having more than one person coming over, I’d have bought more chairs.” Issa jokes.

Sitting on the floor, cross-legged with plates full of food, are Issa, Spooky, Molly, and Cesar. 

“There’s some chairs at this flea market I go past from time to time. I could pick some up.” Spooky offers. 

“Thanks.” Issa smiles. She takes a bite. 

“Oh my god, Spooky. This is hella good!” Molly hums in approval. 

“Yeah, bro. It’s been a while since you cooked Mom’s pot roast. I remember I’d lick the plate when you made it for my seventh birthday.” Cesar adds. Spooky looks up mid-bite.

“You remember that shit?” He asks.

“Yeah. You whacked me with the spoon and told me to eat it like I had manners or I wouldn’t get seconds.” 

“You wouldn’t get seconds anyway. You were getting too fat and you needed to slim down.”

“Now look at me, I got some muscle.”

“By muscle you mean that bird chest and scrawny ass arms. Sure. Maybe I should’ve kept fattening you up.”

“Okay, that...kinda stung.”

“Suck it up.”

“Can I get seconds this time?”

“Ask Issa.”

“Issa, can I get seconds?”

“Not after I make me a plate for work tomorrow.” Issa counters. 

“You still going to work? You told me the shop would be overstaffed and your boss said you don’t have to come in.” Spooky says. 

“Yeah. I need a reason to avoid Trina. She thinks the squirrels are having sex in her wall again.”

Cesar snorts.

“Actually, Issa, maybe you could be of use tomorrow for Tiffany. She’s...she could use you.” Molly offers. 

“Girl, not after the Halloween party. I can’t even get my foot in the door without her screaming at me.” Issa replies.

“Look at it this way; since I’m _out of commission_ because of work, you could _take one for the team_.” Molly says through gritted teeth. Issa connects the dots.

“Alright, girl. But you need to do _that thing_ you need to do.”

The Diaz brothers look at the two’s conversation but looking back at each other. Issa eyes Cesar. 

“Hey, Cesar,” she starts.

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

~~~

Issa and Cesar stand at the door of the Dubois’, Issa feeling the knots in her stomach churn.

Spooky’s cherry red car is parked in the driveway, offering emotional support. 

“Why’d you drag me into this?” Cesar whispers to her.

“Because you need to get your entire ass out of this gang life and this is a ticket to it.” Issa answers. She knocks on the door, only to find the door creaking open.

“Oh, shit,” Issa whispers.

“This is some ID Discovery shit. I’m out-“ Cesar says, turning away. 

Issa grabs Cesar by the collar of his shirt. 

“We’re going in. Something is not right.”

“I thought black people were supposed to run away from danger.” Cesar counters.

“Black people who live in the suburbs are a different breed, Cesar.”

The two walk in, assessing the damage. Everything looks in order, no strange smells. When Issa walks into the kitchen, she nearly jumps out of her skin.

The dishes. They’re disorganized. Baby bottles aren’t categorized by color. There’s a trash can that hasn’t been taken out in at least a day.

“Tiffany?” Issa calls out in a panic, clutching Cesar’s hand like a lifeline. 

“Let go of my hand, Issa.” Cesar hisses out in pain.

Issa bedroom and sees Tiffany, sitting on her bed with a thousand yard stare. Her hair is a mess, she’s wearing a t-shirt that’s splattered with fluids she doesn’t even want to think about and her eyes, they have lost all sense of life. 

“Tiffany! Tiffany, wake up!” Issa shouts at her, shaking her. 

“Diapers...vomit...haven’t showered in days...sleep...what is sleep...won’t...stop crying.” Tiffany whispers. Issa gets a whiff of her and it confirms she hasn’t seen a shower in days. 

“Come on, Tiff. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“The baby…” Tiffany trails off.

“He’s sleeping. He’s fine. Okay? He’s fine. Cesar!” 

Cesar jumps. 

“Yeah?” He asks.

“Run Tiffany a bath. There’s some...bath bombs and soaps that are organized by color. Get the mint green bath bomb and the white bottle of liquid bath soap called ‘Vanillas in Paris’.”

“Umm...where’s the bath—“

“It’s the literal door down the hall that says, ‘bathroom’, Cesar.”

“Oh yeah. Be right back.”

Issa focuses on Tiffany.

“Where’s your clothes, Tiff?”

“Mahogany dresser with the photo of...me and Derek…” She starts and bursts into tears.

“My life is falling apart!” She cries out. Issa rubs her back.

“It’s okay, Tiffany. I’m here.”

~~~

Issa washes Tiffany’s back, holding her hair up with the other hand. Cesar’s back is to them, but Issa catches him sneaking peeks. 

“Eyes forward, little pervert.” Issa chides.

She grabs shampoo and conditioner.

“You want me to wash your hair, or you can do it yourself? I think those tracks can be taken out, so…”

“I can wash my own hair. It’s been a while since someone...took care of me.” Tiffany says airily. She leans against Issa, holding onto her arm. 

“After all the things I’ve said, you’re still here in my time of need. I...I’m so sorry-”

“-I’m sorry too. We both...showed our whole ass that night. But, we still girls and we still gon’ be there for you.” Issa replies. The two squeeze each other’s hands, and it was all the confirmation Issa needed that their friendship is back on track.

~~~

“I’m _what_?”

“You’re going to be staying with Tiffany. She needs all the help with the baby and frankly, you could learn some responsibility.” Issa says. Spooky puffs on his cigarette, saying nothing.

“What about me going to school?” Cesar counters.

“That’s what the bus is for.” Spooky says. Cesar’s eyes widen.

“ _The bus_? I’ll be the _laughing stock_ of the school!”

“Should’ve thought about that before you decided to snitch.” Spooky deadpans. Issa clasps her hands. 

“This might be good for you. Tiffany’s neighborhood is crime-free, so no worry about gangbangers coming to your door. She’s bougie as all hell, so her house is an upgrade. And most importantly, you’ll be helping someone raise her baby, so already you got sex ed and birth control. Everybody wins!” Issa adds. 

“Cicero!” Tiffany sings. She comes into view, refreshed and glowing. Her son is being bounced on her hip.

“It’s...Cesar.” Cesar corrects.

“ _Cicero_...here’s the list of Donovan’s feeding times, sleeping times, chores to be done around the house. I’m _very_ particular about routines so I’d figure you follow them and we can have some fun, okay?” Tiffany smiles her wide-eyed smile.

Cesar doesn’t try to hide his terror.

“I need an answer, Cicero. I’m paying you thirty-two dollars a week and I need to know if it’s worth it.”

“He’ll accept!” Issa says. Cesar whips his head around in betrayal. 

“Good luck.” Spooky deadpans, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Perfect! Come on in, Cicero. The sunlight is aggravating Donovan’s eyes and he gets fussy!”

As Cesar’s dragged into Tiffany’s home, she gives a gentle smile at Spooky and Issa before closing the door. 

“You sure Tiffany will put in a good word in for his college resume?” Spooky asks.

“Tiffany got friends up and down UCLA. All he got to do is stamp her last name on his application and they’d tear his door down to get him admitted. It’s worth it.”

Spooky hums.

“So...we got the rest of the day together. Any plans?”

Issa takes his hand.

“Want to go to the beach and grab some food?”

Spooky grins.

“Kickin’ it on the beach in January.” He laughs. He starts the car. 

“Let’s go, then.”


	13. Hella Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Issa and Spooky talk about their dreams and both plan for the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is going to be pretty short, but it's setting the gears in motion of what's to come in the later chapters!

“I can’t believe the burger truck is still open when it’s cold as fuck.” Spooky muses, biting into his burger. Issa’s teeth chatters in response, taking a sip of her hot coffee.

They sit in the sand, overlooking the cold waves of the ocean as they crash on the shore. The seagulls aren’t even there; it’s just them, the ocean, and the eerie silence of winter. 

“When I got out, I needed to see something big, so I came here,” He confesses. Issa nods.

“It’s kinda pretty right now. I can imagine it’d look better in the summer.” She says. He snorts.

“There’s hella people in the summer. I like it when it’s like...spring, early summer. Where people got enough sense to go to the pool before coming here. It’s quieter, doesn’t have much noise.” He says, finishing the rest of his burger and crushing the wrapper. He dumps their trash in the bin and takes Issa’s hand. 

“Wanna walk on the beach? It could warm you up.” He offers. She laughs and takes his hand.

“It’s like those viagra commercials of those old people walking on the beach in the sunset.” She giggles. 

“The only difference is that’s gonna be us and I won’t be needing viagra.” He replies. 

The two walk together, Issa snuggling closer for warmth. They stop at a beach-house up on a hill. Spooky snorts.

“Cesar was talking about building a house like that on the beach. Said we were gonna live together.” He says. 

“That’s sweet of him.” She adds. 

“It’s a fantasy, Issa. It ain’t gonna come true.” He replies. Issa frowns.

“You don’t know that for sure. It could happen. What’s your fantasy?”

“Too X-rated to be said in public.”

“You know what I meant.”

Spooky turns to her. He smiles softly, but Issa picks up on the sadness behind it. 

“Honestly...when I’m alone, I pretend I’m in an alternate universe. Where everything in my life...worked out for me, and I’m a successful chef that put Freeridge on the map. I got my own restaurant called...La Cocina de Yaretzi because that it’s the name of my mom. Everyday, I’d cook, I’d wear my uniform and teach people my recipes.”   
He stops himself. He blinks quickly and regains composure.

“Maybe...sometimes in the fantasy I have a woman by my side with kids. Some days I’m married to JLo, other days Amara, and on some rare instances my ex Xochil. I live a simple life as a man of the house that works at a job he loves with a wife and kids that love him even more. And, Cesar always comes to visit me. We’d be looking out on the back porch while our kids play and think, ‘damn, our life is perfect’.”

“That’s beautiful.” Issa breathes out. Spooky coughs.

“But what about you? What’s your fantasy?”

“Helping kids. Making a difference. Not struggling.”

“Details, Issa.”

“Starting up an organization that genuinely helps black kids. After-school programs that take the time to know their students, showing them experiences that’ll make an impact on their life, and show them that there’s beauty where they come from. I want to make black kids proud of who they are in a world that tries to tear them down.” Issa inhales. She looks to Spooky, who nods his head.

“I’ve been working for a white-owned nonprofit that was supposed to help black kids but I was the only black person there. For five years. Having to sit through white people’s lack of self-awareness and stupidity is why I want my nonprofit to be staffed by black people and people of color.”

“Aren’t people of color and black people the same thing?”

“Not when the Gina Rodriguez’s of the world co-opt it.”

“That’s...what’s that word you and Molly be using? Shade?”

“Anyway, I want it to be staffed by people who look like me and you and won’t have to deal with being the representative of your race. I’ve had white people ask me stupid shit about black culture and racist issues I’m their...Negropedia.”

“I feel it. How are you gonna get there?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about planning events that center black people and black culture. Block parties, charities, cookouts...I’m actually planning a block party and I want it in...oh, shit. I want it done in the summer!”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m still up to my neck in paperwork and permits, I have no restaurants that’ll cater, no music, no…”

“Issa...calm down. You should’ve told me about this sooner.”

“We were caught up in that drama-”

“-Listen. I know people and I can pull some strings in the food department. I don’t know shit about paperwork, but I got you covered on the food.”

“How will I spread the word out? What about planning--”

“-One step at a time. Get your paperwork done, talk to who you need to talk to, I’m going to give you a date. June. We’ll get this shit on and popping in June.”

“Why June?”

“Kids are going to be coming out of school, so there’s going to be families looking to take their kids somewhere. LA got a shitload of foot traffic in the beginning of the summer because of tourists, so that means there’s money to spend.”

“Places.”

“Freeridge. Inglewood. Compton. Ladera Heights.”

“Which one do I pick?”

“All of them, Issa.”

“Have you lost your rabid ass mind?”

“Listen. I’m not saying you do them all at once, but you space them out. Start planning block parties throughout the years. Get your name in the door. You could be known and with the right connections, you could get that nonprofit up and running.”

“Let’s worry about that in the next few years if this block party is successful.”

“Plan this one in Freeridge. Start small and work your way up. That way, if it falls apart, you won’t be ran out of LA.” 

“That is...the most hurtful but inspiring shit I’ve ever heard.”

“You got this, Issa. Just get on it.” 

“So...I need to worry about paperwork, permits, music, and-”

“-That’s it. I got the food and I even got security covered. Trust and believe, we’ll get this shit up and running by June.”


	14. Hella Similar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Issa gets a little more than what she bargained for when she meets Khalil's wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, guys! I'm so sorry I haven't updated in forever! I've been caught up with life and other projects, as well as writers' block lol
> 
> This story is back on track. Don't worry, I didn't abandon it.

Issa wakes to the smell of bacon frying and Solange Knowles’ album playing softly.

Grabbing her slippers, she enters the kitchen and sees Spooky cooking breakfast, humming to the song.

He turns to face her and kisses her on the cheek.

“Goodmorning, baby.” He says with a smile.

“Goodmorning. What you whipping up in the kitchen?” Issa asks, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Eggs, potatoes, bacon, sausage, and some toast. Just keeping it simple.”

“What’s the occasion?” 

“Great news. I talked to a few friends of mine and they said they’ll cater for the block party.”

“What? That’s great!” 

“I just got to operate a food truck for the event.”

“Food truck?”

“Yeah. A friend of mine’s abuelita is getting a little older and she needs someone to help cook and serve. Those high-schoolers be pulling shit over her because she’s old.”

“Little badass kids.” 

“How’s the legal shit been going for you?”

“Well, I filed and knocked out the last form yesterday. I just got to get the music situation out the way.”

“What’s the problem?”

“It’s Daniel. He flaked on me. I tried to get in contact with him but he ghosted me.”

Spooky sucks his teeth.

“Want me to take care of it?” He asks her. Issa freezes.

“What do you mean by ‘take care of it’?” She replies. Spooky transfers the food to two plates. 

“I find other up and coming artists that got connections. I know some Santos that are in the LA music scene.” 

“What type of music they do?”

“You know...rap...hip-hop...politically-conscious poetry...I got one homie that caused a riot downtown because of his poem about communism—“

“Okay, rap, hip-hop, yes. But what about some...R&B? I need some chill music for the block party.” 

“I got this one girl, but she can’t hit those high notes...and she can’t hit those low ones either.”

“On a scale from Jorja Smith to SZA, how well can you understand what she’s saying when she sings?”

“She sings like a Barbadian seagull.”

“Goddammit.”

“What about that Khalil guy? You mentioned to me he knows something about music.”

“Nah. He’s booked for the time being producing with some artist in Norway. His wife is available, but I don’t know if she can help.”

“Worth a shot. I can go with you.” 

“You sure?”

“Of course, Issa.”

“Alright,” Issa begins, throwing a coat over her shoulders, “let’s head out.”

~~~~~ 

Issa and Spooky arrive at the front door of Khalil and Jaylah’s apartment. Spooky has a case of beer in his arms and Issa a bag filled with bakery goods; they decide to give a peace offering considering Issa and Jaylah had never exactly met face-to-face.

Issa paints a picture in her mind of what Jaylah could look like: racially ambiguous, loose curl pattern, slim figure with some hips, tits, and ass that may or may not be purchased, with some light-colored eyes. 

Men like Khalil always go for that type, it’s been like that since she was in high school.

After she knocks for the third time, the door swings open and there’s a woman that is _not_ what she expected.

Instead of some racially ambiguous woman, it’s a dark-skinned black woman with dark-brown eyes, an average physique with hips and thighs to compensate. She’s wearing a green t-shirt, banana-printed pajama pants, a lavender robe, and fuzzy monkey pajama slippers. Her kinky hair is peeking out of the honey-brown box braids she originally wore. This woman looks tired, agitated, and confused at Issa and Spooky standing before her. 

This woman looks…eerily similar to Issa. From the physique, to her eyes, even to the dimple in her cheek. 

They almost look like sisters. 

“Who are you and what do you want?” The woman groggily asks.

“We’re friends of Khalil’s. I’m Issa.” Issa smiles at her. The woman yawns, assessing Issa.

“Khalil told me a lot about you. Come in, come in.” She waves her hand. Issa walks into the apartment, Spooky following right behind her. Placing the beer on the kitchen counter, Spooky scans over the apartment before taking a seat at the couch. 

“You just missed Khalil. He’s in Norway at the moment, so I’m taking over his musical affairs in Cali. What you need?” She asks Issa.

“Well, I’m putting together this Block Party and I need some musical talent to play it.” 

“You need musical talent… _for free_?”

“No…yes…I…I was thinking—”

“—What Issa is trying to say is that these up and coming artists could benefit giving back to the community by performing in their own backyard. The payment is exposure and street cred.” Spooky interrupts. She nods her head.

“I get that, and that’s very honorable, but… _street cred_ and _exposure_ …don’t pay bills. These upcoming artists want to be compensated for performing. That’s time, labor, money, that’s being wasted. You want musical artists, you got to pay for them.”

“How much are we talking in paying for these artists?”

“How many acts are we looking at for your block party?”

“I don’t know…at least…five?”

“Look, I’m more than willing to help you but if you can’t help me, help you, then there’s nothing I can do. I recommend just investing in some speakers and using Spotify.”

“But that’s janky as hell.”

“So is having artists and musicians perform without pay. I’m sorry.”

~~~~

Spooky and Issa get into Spooky’s car and shuts the doors in defeat.

“Waste of beer and time,” Spooky gripes. 

“Maybe she’s right. We need money to pay for those musical acts.” Issa adds.

“Fuck those musical acts. We could just use a playlist for music.” 

“Spooky, I want to use local acts. I want to keep the theme that there’s beauty and culture in our own backyard that doesn’t involve listening to a Top 20 playlist.”

“I understand that, baby, but look at the bigger picture. You need money. This first time around you’re going to have to make accommodations.”

“No. Music is important to a block party, Spooky. You know this.”

Spooky mutters something in Spanish.

“I don’t know what you just said but you know who did? God.”

He chuckles and kisses her hand.

“Okay, Bunny. Whatever you say.”

Spooky starts the engine. While the car warms up, he turns to face Issa.

“So…about Khalil’s wife…”

“What about her?”

“She kinda…looks like you.”

“I noticed that.”

“Don’t you think that’s…a little creepy?”

“Why would it?”

“She looks like you. You don’t think he married her because of that?”

“No. I’m not a conceited bitch.”

“Never said you were, just thought that’s a little…weird.”

The car drives. They’re passing green lights all the way down. Spooky’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. 

“Spooky where are you getting at—”

“—I think Khalil likes you way more than friends are supposed to like each other.”

“You’re tripping, Spooky. He’s like my cousin.”

“ _Kissing cousins_ is a thing.”

“Dammit, Spooky, I don’t need you getting insecure—”

“— _Insecure_?” Spooky lets out a laugh.

“I’m telling you the real and you think I’m insecure?”

He turns to her.

“Issa…his _wife_ looks almost _exactly_ like you. I don’t want you seeing him anymore.”

“Spooky, you can’t tell me who I can and can’t see—”

“—Issa. I don’t want you seeing Khalil. That’s it.”

Issa bristles at his change of tone, but otherwise keeps quiet.

~~~~~ 

“Can you please talk to your brother and tell him to chill out? I ain’t got time.”

Cesar, who was finished wringing the dish water out of the dish rag, turns to face her with a sarcastic expression.

“Issa, I know you’ve yet to take the crash course into what makes my brother tick, but let me just say, he’s called _Spooky_ for a reason. That man is _scary_. He scares even _me_ and I’m his brother.”

“Well, can you give me insight on his way of thinking? He got hella insecure because I talk to an old friend I’ve known since we were kids.”

“My brother’s a lot of things, but insecure isn’t one of them. At least from what I’ve seen. From my understanding, he got a bad vibe from that dude and didn’t trust him.”

“There’s no bad vibe about Khalil. He’s hella chill and he’s happily married.”

“My dad walked out on my mom to chase some big tit blonde in San Diego. Mom was nine months pregnant with me at the time. A wedding ring didn’t stop him from cheating.”

“That’s…really fucking dark.”

“My brother…I’d like to think he was coming from a good place when it comes to you, even if his delivery is fucked up. He got a bad vibe about someone, and I know he wasn’t silent about it. He did what he thought in that moment was practical and reasonable.”

“Forbidding me from speaking with a friend I’ve known since high school is reasonable.”

“I never said it was reasonable to anyone whose mind doesn’t work like his. He’s got one warped sense of logic.”

“Cicero! Cicero, are the bottles clean?” Tiffany’s voice calls out from the entertainment room. Cesar swears.

“Yeah, Mrs. DuBois!” He replies. Issa holds a torch of pity for him.

He will forever be known as Cicero among her friends.

_Her mind flashes to Cesar holding on to a wooden post while Tiffany, holding the whip Issa had found in her closet._

_“Your name…is,” Tiffany cracks the whip on Cesar’s back, “Cicero!”_

_“Massa DuBois, please, no more!” Issa collapses at Tiffany’s feet, but she kicks her aside._

_“Your name,” Tiffany pronounces in a Southern accent, “is…”_

_“Cicero!” Cesar yelps out when the whip hits him yet again. He collapses to the ground, Issa holding him in her arms._

_“I hate slavery!” Issa shouts to the sky._

“Issa.”

Issa snaps back to reality. Tiffany sits across form her, sloshing her mimosa in her glass. Cesar is sitting next to her, fiddling with his cell phone. 

“Hey, Tiff. You remember Khalil?” Issa asks. Tiffany’s face brightens.

“You mean the Khalil that wrote a love poem about you and told the class it was about me?”

Issa pauses.

“Excuse me?”

“If you’re talking about _that_ Khalil, then yeah. He had, like, the biggest crush on you. That poem he wrote for English class Junior Year was about you.”

“How did you know it was about me?”

“ _Everyone_ knew it was about you. Everyone knew he had a crush on you, except you. You were busy chasing Imani.” 

Tiffany grimaces.

“Wished you went out with him. Much better option, in my opinion.”

“You mean to tell me Khalil liked me like that? Why didn’t he make a move?”

“Girl, you did not hear what I just said? You were crushing on Imani. Spent four years pining for him only to find out he was in a whole ass relationship with the foreign exchange student.”

“Yeah…he married her…found that out on Facebook…”

“Last I checked they were headed for divorce. Fatima’s already filing for full custody last I heard.”

“Damn…”

“But back to your question. Yes, I remember Khalil. Why, what’s up?”

“Well…Khalil and I have been talking…”

“You kicked Spooky to the curb?” Tiffany straightens herself in the chair. Issa shakes her head.

“No. I reconnected with Khalil and he’s married to a woman that… _looks like me._ ”

Tiffany freezes. Cesar rubs the back of his neck. 

“Issa…stay away from him.” Tiffany starts, pointing her finger at her. 

“Not you, Tiff…”

“Issa…do you not see the red flags?” 

Cesar holds up his finger and nods in agreement. 

“No, I…Spooky told me not to talk to—”

“—Spooky has common sense. Oh, God, I hate to say it, but you need each other. He’s the one with some sense.”

Cesar snorts.

“I don’t have time for this. I’m gonna go talk to Lawrence about the Block Party.” Issa rolls her eyes and grabs her purse. 

“Don’t slip and fall on his dick like you did Daniel!” Tiffany hollers out before the door closes.

~~~~~ 

Issa drops her keys in the key bowl and walks to her bedroom, shucking off her jacket. She collapses on the bed beside Spooky, who makes quick work sliding off her shoes and massaging her calves.

He works her calves and slides up to kiss Issa on her forehead and cheeks gently. 

The two lie side by side, Spooky holding her hand and stroking it. 

Apology accepted.


	15. Hella Funds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tiffany and Spooky share a moment.

It’s two in the morning.

This should be a time where people are sleeping, fucking, or shit they’re not supposed to do.

Spooky doesn’t do any.

Instead, he lies in bed, next to a sleeping and drooling Issa, staring at the ceiling and the shadows casted by the passing cars.

He’d been up since seven-thirty last morning; a man needs his sleep.

It’s been like this since he got initiated; too many sleepless nights of looking over your shoulder and planning three steps ahead of your enemies. But what is an enemy if your enemy has become your ally? 

Nothing. 

Instead, Spooky lies in bed, comfortable and safe for the first time in a long time, yet he’s restless. He turns to face Issa and trails a finger down her spine. She’s wearing a gray tank top and blue panties with moons printed across them; comfortable, functional, little fuss. It matches her personality to a science.

His hands roam over her back, kneading and prodding while Issa moans in approval. He glides his hands lower and squeezes her ass. She leans into the touch, arching her back for more access.

He massages and works her flesh until she’s humming and melting into the mattress. He’s about to push her panties to the side when Issa moans out, “Stop.”

He retracts, instead kissing the top of her head and sliding out of the bed.

Issa wakes up the second he slides on his coat.

“What’re you doing up?” Issa asks.

“Can’t sleep.” He answers. He’s lacing up his sneakers.

“Where you going?” She asks.

“Out.”

“Can you get me something while you’re out?”

“What you want?”

“Raisin-Nets?”

“Always the damn Raisin-Nets.”

“I’m just craving them. You know they my favorite—”

“—I’ll get them. Give me a kiss.” 

Issa pecks his cheek.

“You’re meeting up with Tiffany later on today.” She says in one breath.

“Excuse me?”

“Tiffany is going to help with the block party by throwing a fundraiser and since I’m working, you could go with her.”

“Issa, you know I don’t like her—”

“—I know she can be way too much, but…she’s changed a little bit. She’s even warming up to Cesar.”

“Issa—”

“—Please, Spooky. For me.”

Spooky exhales sharply.

“What time today?”

 

As much as Spooky hates to admit it, Tiffany has a beautiful home.

Everything looks organized, clean, and expensive; the only evidence of Cesar living there are his shoes carefully stacked in the shoe rack at the front door and his headphones dangling off the placard that says some French quote he knows is misinterpreted. 

Tiffany greets him, her hair is out of that slick ponytail and frames her face and shoulders in honey-blonde waves and almost blends in with her yellow jumpsuit. She’s wearing name-brand sunglasses, earrings, and even a damn belt to frame her figure; she screams _money_. She gives him an air kiss and he gets a whiff of her fragrance. She even smells expensive.   
She opens the front door and tightens her grip on 

“Alright, let’s go to Crenshaw. I’m meeting with some friends for my event and I don’t want to be late.” She says over her shoulder.

“Are we going in your car?” He asks. Tiffany lowers her glasses and grimaces.

“No. We’re going in yours. I don’t want the risk of my car getting stolen.”

Spooky rolls his eyes through his shades.

“What car you drive?”

“Electric.”

It took all the strength he had not to laugh in her face.

“My car it is. No way in hell will I be seen in a fucking Prius.”

 

“Why are you helping Issa with the block party?”

“Because I can.” Tiffany replies. The ride to Crenshaw was relatively quiet; Tiffany wanted no music playing and Spooky preferred silence anyway. Her uppity voice gets on his nerves.

They pull up to the address she’d given him and immediately he feels out of place. It’s a small building surrounded by people who are up Issa and Tiffany’s alley. Black women and men with a mix of pricey jewelry and Converse sneakers, smoking vape pens and waxing on about racism and foreign words like “bourgeoisie” and “Marxism”. 

They eye Spooky, with his tattoos, shaved head, oversized white shirt, black shorts, socks that stop at his knees, and Walmart sneakers that are held together with gorilla glue and prayer. He’s transported back to the Halloween party. His chest feels tight; he tries to keep his breathing stable.

They don’t see his discomfort; his poker face is immaculate. 

Tiffany grabs his hand and drags him with her, parting the sea of black people like a light-bright Moses. They’re in the building and when he’s greeted by paintings and sculptures of black women, photographs of cross burnings, and rusted shackles being held on display for his eyes to see. 

They’re in an art exhibit.

Tiffany maneuvers through this foreign world like water, saying hello, kissing cheeks, and shaking hands while Spooky stumbles through, giving grunts of acknowledgement whenever someone so much as smiles at him. They make their way to the back of the exhibit and Tiffany takes center stage. 

Moving the microphone to her lips, she says, “I want to thank you all for coming, it’s been quite the honor to introduce you guys to our fundraiser.” 

Golf claps erupt in the room. 

“This fundraiser is to help my good friend Issa Dee fund a project that will help the black community of LA flourish. She’s proposing a block party that’s coming this June, and we need a few extra funds to make sure not only this goes smoothly, she can also create more projects that could benefit us.” She gestures towards the shackles.

“This fundraiser, I’ll be selling extremely valuable pieces that were purchased and owned by me, created by many underground black artists. These are one of a kind, and they get more valuable over time.”

Stroking the shackles, she says, 

“These were the shackles used on my great-great-grandmother during slavery. She held on to these chains to remind us of where we come from, and I’m auctioning these shackles to continue the legacy instead of collecting junk in my storage.”

Polite chuckles.

“Now,” Tiffany saunters towards the audience.

“Let’s talk money.”

 

Spooky and Tiffany sit together in his car in silence. 

“You just made $500,000 in six hours like it’s nothing.” Spooky says after a pregnant pause. Tiffany pats her shoulders.

“Bachelors in Public Speaking, with a Masters in Business. I know how to make money.” She gloats.

Spooky starts the car.

“You really meant what you said about the shackles?” He asks.

“It’s a partial truth. Those shackles were used during the 1900s. My great-great-grandparents were aristocrats in the South who passed as white and reaped the benefits by owning slaves. Those shackles belonged to a slave named Hattie, who was the last one to be freed when it got abolished.”

“That’s…really fucked up.”

“I’m not proud of it. I wanted to get rid of those damn shackles after I found out.”

“Why not tell the truth?”

“Because it wouldn’t sell. Who would want to purchase from someone who came from a bloodline of slave-owning black people? I’m light-skinned and bougie; I got enough stereotypes.”

Spooky pauses.

“You know what, that’s not my place so I’m not gonna speak on it.”

“Thank you.”

“Why’d you bring me?”

“Because you have a nice car, you’re quiet, and you look intimidating. It helps that you dress like a cholo—”

“—That’s offensive as fuck—”

“—You look the part of a thug. You got street cred and protection. I bring Issa with me and her awkward ass would fumble the bag.”

“Is that how you think of me?”

“Oh, don’t be like that. I know what you do when Issa’s not around. I saw your record. Drug trafficking, extortion, assault, kidnapping, the works. You been in and out of jail so much Donny knows you on a first name basis.” 

Spooky grips his steering wheel tightly, trying to gain control.

“You checked off every red flag in my head when I saw you with Issa. I didn’t think she could get any worse than Daniel until she brought you into my house. I thought she could do better than you. I still think that.”

She scrunches her face.

“How can someone like Issa be with someone like you?”

He pulls over.

He turns to face Tiffany.

“I’m going to make sure you make it home safely, and in your house before I pull off. For the rest of the ride, I need you to shut the fuck up and I mean that with the utmost respect because you’re my girl’s friend. Can you do that for me? Can you shut the fuck up?” He says. 

Tiffany sputters and grabs at her necklace.

Spooky continues to drive.

 

They pull up to her driveway. Tiffany unbuckles her seatbelt and pauses at the door.

“I’m sorry.” She tells him. She opens the door and makes it into the front door. Before he could pull off, Tiffany lets out a blood curdling scream. 

“Cesar! CESAR!” She’s shrieking, jumping up and down and pointing inside. 

Spooky bolts out of his car and pushes Tiffany aside, fearing the worst.

There’s Cesar, alive and well…and naked. He’s holding a photo in one hand and his dick in the other. Spooky sees a discarded bottle of lotion on the ground and puts two and two together.

Cesar’s screaming, dropping the photo to grab at himself for modesty. The photo falls and it’s revealed to be Tiffany herself, wearing a bikini.

Time stands still. Spooky looks at the photo, and back at Cesar, who’s trying to hide his shame. Tiffany’s shrill screams are like white noise. 

Spooky calmly backs away.

“Oscar—”

“—You’re demented.” He tells him.

“It’s not what you think—”

“—You’re _fucking nasty_!” Tiffany shrieks, hitting Cesar over and over with her purse.

“Tiffany, stop! That hurts!” Cesar cries out, shielding his head while also covering himself. Tiffany pulls out her water bottle and splashes him with it like it’s holy water.

“You are going to _church_ , you are going to _purify yourself in the waters of Lake Minnetonka_ , you disgusting little pervert! I should…wash your eyes with _soap_!”

“I’m a teenage boy, it’s what we do when we’re alone. Stop shaming me!”

Tiffany hits him again.

“Shame, shame, _SHAME_!” She bellows. 

Spooky watches this unfold, and the laughter slips from his lips before he could stop it. Before he’s aware, he’s laughing. He throws his head back and clutches his stomach, tears in his eyes. 

_“What the fuck are you laughing at?”_ Tiffany’s shrill voice hits a high-pitched octave and Spooky loses it. 

He’s on the floor, guffawing until his stomach hurts and it wasn’t long before Tiffany starts to laugh too. She’s on the floor with him, wheezing out laughter and pointing at Cesar. They laugh even harder when Cesar snatches a curtain from the window to tie around his waist, knocking the curtain rod out the wall.

“That’s $1,500 curtains!” Tiffany wheezes out, wiping away a tear. Tiffany and Spooky’s combined laughter dies down to fluttered giggling, the two holding onto each other for support.

“Can someone explain to me what the fuck just happened?” Cesar asks. 

Tiffany, fully composed, claps a hand on Cesar’s shoulder.

“Freshman Year in college,” She explains, patting his head and snickering.

 

“So…is Cesar getting kicked out?” 

“Nope. Tiffany chilled out and was pretty cool about it. It boosted her ego to know she’s a MILF, so it worked out.” 

“That’s weird.” Issa says into her chow mein. Spooky stabs his barbecued pork with his chopsticks. 

“We literally spent the whole day roasting Cesar. I kinda like Tiffany, now. She’s funny as hell.”

“You two seem to finally get along.”

“Because she’s weird. I click well with weird ass people.” Spooky replies, slurping a few noodles in his mouth. Issa cracks open a fortune cookie.

“ _A great tragedy will bring forth a prosperous reward._ ” Issa reads.

Spooky’s burner phone rings.

The two exchange looks. 

He answers.

“ _Que onda_?” He asks.

“Is this Oscar Diaz?” A timid female voice asks. 

Raising his eyebrow, he says, “Who needs to know?”

“This is Jolene. You probably don’t remember me, but I’m your father’s wife. He had a stroke last night, and you and your brother might want to come down to San Diego because this might be the last time you see him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I just want to say once again thank you for rocking with the story and giving my story its much needed love, but I regret to inform you this story is coming to an end quite soon. Well, not too soon. Like many good things, it's not going to last forever. 
> 
> The future chapters are going to be   
> Hella High  
> Hella Insecure  
> Hella Fun  
> Hella Fresh  
> Hella Distant  
> Hella South   
> and finally...Hella West Coast.
> 
> Don't be sad; there'll possibly be more one-shots involving these two, possibly a sequel. So...that's all I want to say.
> 
> Love y'all!


	16. Hella High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spooky and Issa think about the future after a tragedy.

As Issa watches Spooky pace back and forth, hours after getting that phone call, she muses if the Universe has a morbid sense of humor. 

“How’d that bitch even get my fucking number,” Spooky mutters in Spanish. Issa should comfort him, but she knows when he gets in these moods it’s best to leave him alone. 

“I haven’t talked to my dad in fifteen years, Issa. Now he’s knocking on death’s door and wants to reach out? _Fuck that_!” He pounds his chest.

“Maybe he wanted closure. Sometimes when people have been doing others foul for years, they use their last day on Earth to right their wrongs. You don’t have to go—”

“—I wanna see that fucker. Look him dead in his cowardly face and spit in it when he takes his last breath. Left us to go chase that white bitch in San Diego, had me be a mother and a father when Mom became strung out to pay bills…fuck that puto. Fuck him forever.” 

He raises his fist to hit the wall; Issa grabs his forearm and massages it. 

“You know I hate seeing you like this.” She says. Spooky deflates and kisses her knuckles.

“I’m sorry, Bunny. I just…I got a lot of spite for someone who walks out on his family to start another. Did you know I got a brother _and_ a sister I never even met because of what Oscar did.”

“Oscar’s…your name.”

“It's also my father's.”

“…Oh.”

Issa guides him to the couch, sliding into his lap to massage his temples.

“Sent us postcards every Christmas with some chump change like it was supposed to fix the situation. Mom smoked it up, though. I went to jail and the postcards stopped coming. Like…the second I went, he forgot about me again. That shit hurt.”

His voice cracks; his walls are coming down. She rubs circles on his back and he pulls away, his mask replaced.

“Let’s go to San Diego.” She tells him.

~~~ 

“How long are you going to be gone for?”

“Probably a few days. Family emergency.” Issa says over her shoulder, stuffing the last of her suitcases into Spooky’s car. Her employer purses his lips. 

“You know your employment as the property manager is around the clock on call, right?” He says. Issa pauses.

“My father-in-law had a stroke and is about to pass away any moment. I have to see him and say my final goodbyes.” She fibbed. It seems to tug at her landlord’s heartstrings; he turns away and rubs the back of his neck. 

“I’ll cover for you while you sort that out. You got two weeks. Your ass not here by those two weeks, you better look for somewhere else to stay.” He warns. He sighs.

“Enjoy your trip. I offer my condolences.”

~~~ 

The drive was long due to traffic. Issa is leaning on Spooky’s chest as he holds her with one arm while driving with the other, eyes focused on the road. Issa’s playlist plays softly through the speakers; whether Spooky wants to admit or not, he likes listening to Frank Ocean more than she does the way he replays “Nights” and “Monks” that many times.

Cesar is in the backseat, looking out at the passing cars. His snark has died down.

They arrive at the hotel, the type to ask no questions. Issa becomes the polite face to sweeten Spooky’s frightening demeanor and Cesar’s skittish expression. 

Two beds. Economy suite. May or may not have roaches.

Issa’d slept in worse, like her brother’s first apartment after he graduated UCLA.

She opens the door and chucks her luggage on the bed, only for the slats to shatter into dust and wood chunks, the bed collapsing with it. A cloud of dust rises, choking the trio. Issa pulls apart the blinds and sees the window has bars on it. Shaking her head, she yanks the window open and smells the pollution and filth.

“Next time, we book the hotel online instead of picking the cheapest one as we go,” Issa mutters.

Cesar gingerly sits on his bed but leaps out of it. He yanks the blanket and a sea of roaches scatter to the darkness. 

Issa faints on top of her luggage. 

This is _definitely_ worse than her brother’s first apartment.

~~~ 

“I’m so glad you guys could come. He really wanted to see you.” 

Issa smiles awkwardly at the blonde-haired, blue-eyed white woman who’s dotting her tears with a handkerchief. 

Spooky grunts and Cesar averts his gaze.

“You want to see him?” She asks Issa, grabbing her hands with her snot-infested one. Issa gently slides her hands out of hers and wipes them on her jeans. 

“I think it’s more of a… _family_ affair.” She says. 

“Oh, honey…you’re dating his son. You’re family, don’t worry. Come, come.” The woman is patting Issa’s back. Again, Issa wiggles out of her grasp. 

“I know we’re not close. Sometimes I wish the circumstances would’ve been different and we all could’ve lived under one big roof in San Diego,” She tearfully chuckles.

“He left his family to be with you.” Cesar bites out. The woman nods her head.

“I know you might think that. But trust me, I never intended to break up a happy home. Your father and I fell in love and…you can’t help who you fall in love—”

“—He had a fucking family!” Spooky lashes out. The woman flinches. 

“While he went with you to play _house_ ,” he spits, “I had to be a _father_ to my baby brother. I had to teach him how to be a man because your _husband_ was too much of a coward to own up to his shit. He had _fifteen years_ to give us an explanation, to make it right to my brother and I, but he didn’t do _shit_. He left us in LA to _rot_ while you and your _ugly ass kids_ are living the good life.” He stomps towards the woman, backing her into the wall. Issa and Cesar jump into action trying to pull Spooky away, but he’s too strong.

“Fifteen fucking years. And now because he had a stroke he wants to have a conscience and you want to pretend shit sweet? I fucking hate you. You _ruined my family_ and you _ruined my life_!” 

Nurses and security guards whip their heads to see the commotion. Issa needs to get him calm before they interfere.

“Spooky, I know you’re upset but this is not the time _or_ the place.”

“I want this _gringa_ bitch out of my fucking sight. Just _looking at her_ makes me _sick_!”

“Spooky, _stop_.” Issa jerks his head to hers. Spooky’s sharp breathing slows down and he relaxes. 

“You’re not here for her. You’re here to get some closure and come back home. That’s it. Get your closure and move on.” 

“Okay?” She asks, stroking his jawline. He sighs, squeezing her hand.

“Okay,” He says with a whisper.

~~~ 

Issa and the woman, who’s named Jolene, sit side by side in the waiting room as the brothers spend time in the ICU with their father.

“It’s not my fault,” Jolene says over the television static, “I knew he was in a relationship, but I didn’t know he had a family. It just…happened.”

“I’m sure you were young and…didn’t know any better.” Issa offers. Jolene deflates.

“Oscar did warn me his kids were going to blame me for ruining their lives, but I didn’t think the oldest one carried it for so long. He looked at me like he wanted to…kill me.” Jolene shudders.

“I’ve never felt so safe to be in a hospital in my life!” She chuckles, before turning serious.

“Fifteen years of being by this man’s side, only for him to have a stroke. This man is worth _$3 million_. How stressful is your life to have a stroke when you could be retiring?”

“Guilt?” Issa freezes. Did she just say he’s worth _$3 million_?

The Diaz brothers come out of the ICU. Cesar is stone-faced while Spooky’s exterior is cold.

“We said our goodbyes. Let’s go.” Spooky says. Jolene bites her lip. 

“I know you don’t want to hear me speak—”

“—Let’s go, Issa—”

“—We have to go over his last will and testament—” 

“—I don’t give a fuck.”

“$1.6 million!” Jolene shouts. Cesar, Spooky, and even Issa freeze in their tracks.

“He left you and your brother $800,000 each.” Jolene finishes. 

Spooky marches toward her. She doesn’t flinch this time. She crosses her arms and stares him down.

“—I have lawyers upon lawyers who will read the last will and testament to you in English _and_ Spanish. This is the truth.” She says. She turns on her heel. 

“Follow me to the house. You know the one, Oscar.” She says over her shoulder, before disappearing down the hallway.

Spooky bristles at his government name. 

“What house is she talking about?” Issa looks to Spooky.

“Go get in the car.” He tells her.

~~~ 

Issa finds herself alone.

She’d been sitting outside the study for at least two hours; she can now count the amount of curls on the statue’s pubic hairs when the doors swing open.

Spooky and Cesar stand out like sore thumbs among men in suits and briefcases. Clutched in both the brothers’ hands are black suitcases.

“We’re fucking rich!” Cesar exclaims, pumping his fist in the air and jumping in the air. 

~~~ 

“You mean to tell me I got all this money but I can’t spend it?”

Molly looks over the legal documents once more.

“Yep. Seems about.” Molly says, nodding her head and handing the documents back to Spooky.

“Even though this is under the grounds of inheritance, you don’t have a bank account and given your criminal record…you opening an account and depositing all of this money will cause concern and unwanted attention. This isn’t including taxes.” Molly deducts.

“So, what do we do with this money?” Cesar pipes up.

“I don’t know. Spend it all, gamble with it, save it under a mattress for years to come. You just can’t put it into a bank. Not just yet…”

“So…I can go splurge right now? Get an apartment in Las Vegas and live it up?” Cesar asks, looking at Molly with wide eyes.

“You need to be eighteen and have a history of credit to own an apartment anywhere, Cesar.” Molly shoots him down. He deflates.

“The best course of action would be, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but get some form of work history. While you’re creating a history, slowly deposit the money. That way, it won’t look sketchy and you can still have a sense of savings.” She looks at Spooky.

“As for you, because you are technically a felon, but you’re over eighteen, you could just get a loan and pay it off with the inheritance so it’ll look good on your financial record as well as hedge your bets to owning property.”

“What kind of loan we talking about?”

“A home owner’s loan. Because you’ve been consistently paying rent and utilities at your present residence since you were eighteen, you’re more than eligible to pursue a home owner’s loan. You’re the first man I know to have a remarkable credit score and have a record of financial responsibility.”

“They taught me financial literacy in prison. I actually have experience in accounting and ten-key.”

“So, you’re good with crunching numbers?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?”

Molly raises an eyebrow and smirks. 

“Alright, thirsty bitch, eyes off!” Issa says. Molly holds up her hands in defense.

“Just saying,” Molly says as she types, “Men that are good with their money are hard to come by in LA.”

“Well, I could…buy the house.” Spooky offers.

“That’s the home Cesar and I lived in since we were little. I don’t want to one day leave and it gets taken over by some yuppies in the future.”

“Freeridge _is_ starting to have a vegan yogurt shop near the church that got shot. That’s usually a sign.” Issa adds.

“I want my kids to always have a home.” Spooky blurts out. Molly freezes.

“One day, if I have them, I’d want them to have a house that can be kept within the family for years to come. It’s investing in the future.” 

“See, Issa? He’s smart and makes wise financial decisions. Let him help you with your 425 credit score.”

 _“Why you being all loud?”_ Issa hisses.

~~~

"You think Cesar and I could...leave everything behind with this money?"

Issa eyes him.

"This money...it could be our ticket out the ghetto. Cesar can go to any college he chooses without going into debt, I could move to just about anywhere in the world. I got more money than I can spend, but I feel...lost."

"I remember you talking about your dream of opening up your restaurant. You can do that now."

"I can. I'm just...Issa, I'm going to ask you something and I'm gonna need you to be honest."

"What is it?"

"Do you love me?"

"I do. I...I think I do..."

"Don't lie to me, Issa."

"I don't know. I thought love takes time. And we rushed into things and the drama..."

"I love you. I love you in a way that...I want to marry you. Have kids. Grow old, all that shit. I love you, and I want to know if this is real, like...you're not doing this shit because you think I'm some dumb hood ni-"

"- _don't_ finish that word."

"I just want to know if it's real."

"It's real for me. I'm in this."

"Marry me."

"Excuse me?"

"Did I fucking stutter?" 

"Spooky..."

"I'm in this, Issa. Whatever happens, I'm in this. Marry me."

He grabs her hand. 

"Spooky...not yet. If we can make it to five years, maybe."

He sighs.

"I'll take it." 

He still holds her hand, thumbing her ring finger.

"We're in this together, right?" He asks. Issa kisses his palm and sinks into his body.

"Wouldn't want it any other way."


	17. Hella Insecure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Issa spending time with her ex causes tension between Issa and Spooky's relationship.

**April**

It’s Saturday night.

Issa’s sitting on the edge of the kitchen sink, the faucet about to impale her back if she’s not careful. Spooky is kissing her, trying to unhook her bra with one hand while digging into a box of Trojans for a condom. He pulls away, panting.

“Issa,” He breathes out.

“We’re out.”

“What do you mean out? I thought we just bought some—”

“—We ran through them, remember? It was a variety pack.”

“Shit. I got some in the nightstand—”

“—We are not using the ones you got from the clinic. They don’t look reliable.” 

“We could always go to the store and buy some?”

“Well…we could…not use one.”

“I don’t know about—”

“—I get it. Can I just…put it in for a few seconds…?”

“…”

Spooky swears under his breath.

“Let’s go to Rite Aid.”

 

“So, got any plans for tonight?” The checkout clerk asks Issa, smirking as she eyes the box of condoms and Spooky fidgeting with two packs of razors to go with the sale. He places one pack on the conveyor belt and looks away.

“You know. Being safe. Doing responsible…things.” Issa bites out. The checkout clerk smiles.

“Would you guys like to try some of that KY His and Hers? Those sensations are a game changer. Me and my boyfriend—”

“—Just tell us the total.” Issa hisses. She rubs the back of her neck while Spooky stifles a laugh.

After she rings them up, Issa and Spooky make their way outside when Issa hears that voice.

“Issa? Hey, Issa!”

She turns. 

It’s Lawrence, wearing a hoodie and sweatpants combo with slides, carrying a grocery bag. He waves at her and pulls her into a hug.

He smells post-sex. 

Issa definitely feels gross.

“Hey, it’s good to see you. Getting some panties?” He jokes. Issa gives a polite laugh.

“Ha ha, you got me. Got to get some…panties…” She trails off, looking away. Lawrence nods his head to Spooky.

“He with you?” He asks her, eyebrow arched.

“Yeah, Spooky, this is Lawrence, my ex. Lawrence, this is Spooky, my…boyfriend.” She greets the men. The two nod in acknowledgement.

“Okay, okay…guess we both not single, now, huh?” Lawrence jokes. Issa’s eyes widen.

“Oh…who’s the lucky lady?”

“Condola. She’s the event planner at the event we went to on your birthday last year…?”

“Small world! We were actually working on the Block Party.”

“Cocoachella? Got to work on the name.”

“It’s still in the…you know what, we keeping the name.”

“Alright. Better be a shea butter hand pump station somewhere and Wakandan print banners everywhere.” Lawrence makes an ‘X’ with his arms.

“Shut the fuck up.” Issa cackles, slapping his arm. 

“Well, I’m proud of you for toughing it out and getting shit done. Heard y’all gonna get it ready for June. You need promo and banners, call me. I got connections, now.” Lawrence pulls out a business card.

“Nigga, you carry business cards in your sweatpants…?”

“I got to be prepared, Issa. Hood niggas need connects, too.” Lawrence juts his chin towards Spooky.

“Take good care of her, bro.”

“She in better hands, _bro_.”

If Spooky could, he’d be breathing ice right now. Lawrence felt that chill and held his hands up in passiveness.

“Alright, homie. See you around, Iss. Don’t be buying anymore panties from Rite Aid.” He jokes, making his way to his car.

“Fuck is he talking about?” Spooky asks Issa.

“Inside joke.” She answers.

 

“Yo…your new man? Buggin’.” Lawrence quips over his cup of coffee. 

He, Issa, Molly, and Condola, are having brunch to go over the final details of the block party. Cocoachella is in full effect; already word got around and people are spreading it like wildfire. Issa even recruited Cesar to spread the word to his friends in high school; his friend Ruby wants in. 

Issa has a scheduled dinner with him tonight to go over fireworks and musical events. How a fourteen-year-old boy can get underground artists and a DJ on speed dial is beyond her, but she won’t question it. As far as she’s concerned, it’s the best $200 she’s ever spent; that little boy got connections.

“He’s not buggin’. Spooky’s…Spooky. There’s no right way to describe him. He’s harmless…for the most part.”

“He got a teardrop on his face, Issa. That nigga caught a _body_.” Lawrence gestures to his cheek.

_Bodies. Plural_ , Issa thinks, but otherwise keeps to herself. 

“I spent a few moments with him and bougie ass Tiffany fucks with him. You got to get used to him, that’s all.” Molly retorts. She stabs her sushi platter with her chopsticks and scoops a dragon roll in her mouth. Issa takes a sip of her mimosa. 

“I don’t know, man. I got a bad feeling about him. Like, he’s gonna drag you into some shit.” Lawrence says with a frown.

“You think that with every nigga that got a criminal record. Spooky is…he’s good to me. He’s nice…in his own way. He’s smart, he’s funny, he’s supportive, and…I trust him.” Issa makes eye contact with Lawrence.

“He makes me happy and I feel safe with him. He knows I’m awkward as fuck and he hasn’t ran for the hills yet. He treats me well and…I think I see a future with us.” She confesses.

Lawrence and even Molly look taken aback.

“It’s _serious_ serious?” Molly asks, clutching her pearl drop necklace.

“Dead serious. We… _mightactuallygetmarriedoneday_.” She says in one breath and downs her flute of mimosa. Molly chokes on her California roll while Lawrence sputters. 

_“What?”_ the two shout in unison, attracting onlookers. Condola enters the table and takes a seat.

“Sorry for taking so long in the bathroom. Long ass line. I miss anything?” Condola asks innocently. Lawrence snatches Molly’s mimosa and knocks it back like a shot.

Molly’s still clutching her necklace.

Issa is stuffing her mouth with her brunch special. 

Bruno Mars’ “Marry You” softly plays in the background.

 

“Okay, so…what is your theme?” Ruby asks Issa. They’re in his living room, sitting cross-legged and going over pages in Ruby’s planner. Issa is blown away by his layouts; he’s gotten patterns, motifs, gold font, and cut-out magazine men, women and children that go with whatever theme he picked out. 

“Something that celebrates blackness.” Issa answers. Ruby nods and flips his book to the last few pages.

“So…we talking African, Wakanda Forever, Black Pride, or my favorite, Shea Butter Twitter?” He asks, flipping through a tasteful display of African fashion models and prints, another page of black people cosplaying as Killmonger and a disappointed Chadwick Boseman posing for fans, another page of black people enjoying Afropunk, and the last page of diverse black women with flowers in their hair smiling in a lavender background. Their skin? Moisturized.

“Mix of Shea Butter Twitter and Black Pride with sprinkles of African. I was thinking…black, gold, and purple.”

“Hmm…royalty. Black royalty. I like it. Is this…” Ruby looks at his notes, “Cocoachella for other people as well? I know it’s black themed, but what about the Afrolatinx? They included?”

“Of course. Everybody can attend. No one is checking you at the door to see if you’re black.”

“I know, it’s just…I don’t want nonblack people to invade black spaces. It’s my job as a nonblack ally to acknowledge my privilege and not take up space I’m not in.”

“Ruby…this is just for the entire community of LA that’s black-run. I want black and brown kids to know there’s pride and beauty in the hood.”

“I respect your vision.”

“Hey…I know about what happened…with your friend.”

Ruby tenses. 

“I think we should incorporate the color lavender into Cocoachella to honor her memory.”

“Don’t do that for pity—”

“—I’m not trying to do it as a play for pity or to win brownie points. I do think what happened is fucked up. Some of my friends were affected by the shooting. _I_ was affected…in ways I can’t even tell you. But, we can honor her name and remind people that this is for peace. And…love.”

“A…kumbayaa of sorts.”

“If that’s okay with you.” 

“…I’d like that. I got some purple fireworks we could shoot off. I didn’t get to use them…” He trails off. Issa cautiously claps a hand on his shoulder. 

“If it’s too much too soon, tell me. I don’t want to give you something you can’t handle.”

“I’ll be fine.” He says, ending the conversation.

“Okay. So…about that DJ…do we _have_ to play mariachi music?”

“You said _underground_. And besides, the singer owes me fifty bucks for vomiting in the punch last year.”

“It’s…fine. As long as the DJ got some tracks that keep up with the theme of…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…hey…can you do me one favor?” Ruby looks up at Issa with wide eyes. Before Issa could ask what the favor was, he presses a button on his laptop and the instrumental of Kelis’ “Bossy” plays. 

The two maintain eye contact.

“No.” Issa says.

“Do it for me.” Ruby replies.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this…”

“I’m doing you a huge favor getting the music and the fireworks situation…situated, just got to return the favor.”

“I don’t have a mic—”

Ruby hands her a brush.

“You been planning this. Haven’t you?”

“I’m a Virgo. What did you expect?”

A black boy comes out of the hallway with his phone, flash already on.

“Broken Pussy: Acoustic Version.” The boy narrates.

Issa closes her eyes tightly and counts to ten.

Fuck. Ceasar’s. Friends. Forever.

“You share this…with anyone…I’ll have Spooky personally beat your ass.” She tells Ruby.

“Worth it.” The black boy shouts.

She exhales, looks at the camera, and starts her rap.

 

**May**

It’s starting to get warm.

Issa is fanning herself before working on the air conditioner her tenant busted. She’s wearing daisy dukes that cup her ass at the expense of suffocating her crotch, with a cotton yellow top that, despite its airy appearance, gives an outline of her braless breasts and perky nipples. 

Her tenant is watching her work; she feels eyes scan over her backside and feels uncomfortable.

Spooky warned her about dressing like this in front of her tenants, but she’d brush him off. It’s hot; she’ll be damned before she wears a parka when it’s eighty-five degrees outside. But as she feels herself being undressed by her tenant, without her consent, she wishes Spooky would be here to knock his eyes back into his head. Or at least scare him into some decency. 

The air conditioner’s fixed. Thank God she doesn’t have to spend another minute in this musty apartment with this man. 

“Alright, it’s up and running. If you have any additional problems, give me another ring and I’ll see if I can get someone else to help you.” She smiles thinly at the man. He makes no effort to hide his leering over her body.

“You one tall drink of water, Miss Dee. It’d be a shame if I don’t get to see you soon.” He says to her.

“I’m sure your _wife_ and my _boyfriend_ would have differing opinions.” She replies. She walks out of the man’s apartment and closes the door behind her. Spooky is standing right in front of her, offering her a cold beer. She takes it and knocks it back, trying to swallow her disgust away. 

“Did that trick I showed you?” Spooky asks.

“Yeah. Got it running like magic.” She answers with a chuckle. 

“You cold?” Spooky takes a swig of her beer and hands it back to her.

“No, why?” She asks.

“Because your titties are saying hello.”

“Jesus, Spooky…”

“There’s some perverts around here, Issa…”

“I’m a grown woman. I can handle myself.”

“You screamed in the shower because you thought a tiny ball of hair was a spider.”

“It looked like it had legs, and last I checked you ain’t got no hair and my hair is kinky as fuck.”

“Baby, you wore those crochet braids with the…” Spooky snaps his fingers, “Chaka Khan curls. That shit shed like a motherfucker. Had to pick hairballs everywhere I stepped.”

“You got Chaka Khan? I was trying to go for Janet Jackson during her Velvet Rope era.”

“Issa, my only frame of reference for Janet Jackson is the freaky shit I had in my mind when I saw her titty at the SuperBowl.”

“And that’s why the black community continues to not fuck with Justin Timberlake.”

“Justified.”

He swoops in to kiss her.

“Want a quickie before I leave?” He asks her. Issa chuckles.

 

“Can’t. Meeting up with Lawrence to fine tune the details and set up.”

Spooky frowns.

“Huh.” He hums.

“Don’t be like that…”

“No, go ahead. I trust you.”

“Never gave you a reason not to.” 

He gives her a look, like the words are on the tip of his tongue, but he otherwise keeps quiet.

 

“Alright, so Condola got off the phone with the people in charge of the bounce-house, the cotton candy machine, and the concession stands and they said everything’s good. Cocoachella starts June 8th. You excited?” 

Issa snaps out of her daze. Lawrence is sitting across from her, squeezing her hand back to focus.

“Yeah, I’m hella excited!” She replies, showing all teeth. Lawrence sucks his teeth.

“I’ve known you since college. I know you got something on your mind.” 

“This whole thing…feels so unreal. Like what I imagined is coming to fruition and physical form.”  
“Trust me, I know the feeling, Iss. With Condola by my side, I managed to get Woot Woot off the ground.” 

“Oh, Jesus, still with the name?”

“Nah, it’s Hoot. It’s a ride-sharing app that matches drivers to your music tastes. In a couple of years, I’m looking at a partnership with Spotify if I gain enough traction.” 

“Oh you in the big leagues now, huh? I’m proud of you.”

“I’m proud of you, too. Look at you: Got a project that makes you happy and you saw it through enough to see it manifest into something incredible. We doing good things.”

He lifts his drink.

“To achieving our goals.”

She clinks her drink with his.

“To achieving our goals,” She repeats.

As the two knock back their drinks, both eye a couple standing in line for their food. Issa sees Nathan…with _Tasha_. They’re side by side, Nathan’s hand on the small of her back. Tasha is dressed in a revealing bodysuit and ripped blue-jean combo, with thigh-high black boots. Her mouth is moving a mile a minute while Nathan chuckles warmly…

His hand sliding lower to grab a handful of her ass.

Tasha whips her head around, and it’s clear they’re going to fuck tonight.

Issa sinks into her chair. 

What are the odds you see _two_ of the people in your life that had caused you so much grief…finding happiness together?

“Niggas think cuz they light-skinned they cute.” Lawrence mutters under his breath. 

“They look good together.” Issa muses in one breath. 

Maybe Tasha won’t abandon him during his bad moods like she did. 

Lawrence and Issa exchange looks, both connecting the dots. 

Lawrence chuckles.

“Life’s a bitch, ain’t it?” He asks, never taking his eyes off the new couple. Issa takes a sip of her soda.

“It totally fucking is.” She replies, joining the voyeuristic view of the couple’s date. 

 

Hours have passed, and they’re still at the diner. The graveyard shift waitresses are wiping down tables and glaring at Issa and Lawrence, who are talking away and ordering more cups of hot chocolate.

“Sure you want to be out this late with me? Don’t want your _ese_ nigga rolling up on me and shit.” He quips. Issa checks the time.

“Shit. It’s getting late. I got to head back.”

“Me too. It’s nice talking to you, Issa. As…friends. Good friends.”

“Likewise.”

Lawrence pulls her into a hug. She feels the warmth, comfort, and even the platonic affection of a long-time friend. 

She melts into the hug and wraps her arms around him tighter. 

They hold the position for a few seconds longer before the two pull away.

“We should do this again soon.” He smiles. All Issa could do is nod.

 

Issa slides the key into her home quietly and opens the door, flinching at the loud creaking. Snitch ass door. 

Shucking off her shoes, she closes the door behind her, locks it, and tip-toes to her bedroom…

“Welcome home, Issa.” 

She jumps out of her skin. 

The living room light clicks on and it’s Spooky, sitting on her couch wearing flannel pajama pants and nothing else.

“Jesus, how the fuck have you been sitting…”

“Any reason you came home at almost three in the morning?” He interrupts. Issa takes a sharp inhale.

“First of all, I’m a grown ass woman who comes and goes as she pleases. I don’t have to tell you everything.” 

“Considering your ass got kidnapped last time I let you out of my sight, I’m pretty entitled to keep tabs on you.”

“If you must know, I met up with Lawrence to go over the last details of the block party.”

“You left at ten, and came in at 2:48 AM. What _last details_ did you need to go over that took you almost five hours?” 

“Spooky…you need to stop. Whatever you think happened…didn’t happen. We talked, we caught up on lost time, and we went our separate ways. That’s it.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“When have I ever lied to you?” 

“You got feelings for him?”

“Spooky…”

“You cheated on your last boyfriend with an ex. Whatever reasoning and opportunities there were for you to cheat, I need to know so I can nip them in the bud.”

“You never got over my one mistake. You think I’m some serial cheater?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“You don’t trust me, do you?”

The moment of truth. 

Spooky twists his mouth and smooths his hands over his face. 

“No.” He admits.

“If you don’t trust me, then why are you in my apartment?”

“Because I love you.” 

“Any love without trust is a love I don’t have time for. I’m too grown for someone who judges someone for the mistakes they’ve made in the past. I told you it was a _mistake_ and I _regretted_ it!” Issa chucks her purse at Spooky.

“I’ve given you _zero_ reason not to trust me and you still hold this shit over my head! Whatever it is you need to prove I’m not going to go…fuck some random behind your back…it’s right here in your face!” She waves over her body. 

“Your problem is you so used to everyone being cruel to you and fucking you over that the second someone shows you genuine decency you think they’re cheating on you. _Oscar_ , if you can’t trust me, if you think I’m going to fuck some nigga behind your back, then maybe we should take a break.” 

Spooky eyes Issa.

“I’m not leaving here.” He says. 

“Then sleep on the couch. I’m going to bed. When you’re ready to start trusting bitches again, you can come in.”

Issa slides out of her jeans and shucks off her top.

“Issa…” Spooky says softly.

“I’m not listening to insecure ass niggas.” She says over her shoulder, unhooking her bra. 

“Issa, I’m sorry—”

She tosses the sage green panties in Spooky’s face. He looks at the panties and back at Issa. 

“You’re not playing fair, Issa.” He growls out. A tent is pitched in his pants.

“Neither were you.” Issa says. She scoops her clothes and tosses them into the dirty clothes hamper.

They don’t talk for two days.


	18. Hella Fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get real at Cocoachella.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long wait! I've been caught up with work and school! But hopefully this long ass chapter makes up for it. Love y'all! Thank you so much for your support and reviews!

**June**  
**_7 hours before Cocoachella_ **

It’s the morning of Cocoachella. Spooky wakes to an empty bed and soft music playing in the bathroom. He walks in and sees Issa adding the finishing touches to her hair and makeup. She’s swiping another coat of nude lip gloss when she says, “hey.”

“Hey. You look beautiful.” He adds, pulling her to him from behind and kissing her bare shoulder. She’s wearing a lace green bustier top with shorts to match, brown and gold wedges setting it off just right. The blazer that goes with it is draped over the toilet seat, the necklace he gave her sitting in the fabric like it belonged there. 

He pushes her long curly ponytail to kiss at her neck but she slides out of his hold. 

“Get dressed.” She says. 

“Still mad?” He asks. 

“Still don’t trust me?” 

A pause.

“Issa, it’s been two weeks—”

“—It’s my big day. I don’t want to be late.” She interjects. She grabs her necklace and tries to clasp it but fails. Spooky takes the necklace from her and clasps it for her.

The two look at themselves in the mirror; Issa’s green and gold appearance a contrast to Spooky’s bare skin, black pajama pants and his Santos tattoo peeking through.

“We really do look good together,” He hums, throwing his arms around her once more and pulls her to him. 

“I’m not mad,” Issa sighs, sinking into him. 

“I know.” He answers, kissing her hand. 

“We’ve been together for almost a year, now. Time really does fly.”

“We met a year from today. I count it as an anniversary.”

“You remember the exact date?”

“I remember a lot of things. I just don’t talk about them as much.”

“Well…happy anniversary.”

Spooky chuckles.

“Happy anniversary… _Mrs. Diaz_.”

Before Issa could react, Spooky kisses her cheek and makes his way to the shower.

**_5 hours before Cocoachella_ **

Spooky arrives at a modest food truck and takes a deep drag of his smoke. 

He’s about to exhale when someone sharply taps on his window. His smoke sputters out with a startled exhale. Cramming the cigarette into the ashtray, he looks to who was knocking.

It’s a little boy with dark skin and a curly mop of hair that hasn’t seen a comb in days. 

He leans in closer to the window and Spooky notices he got green snot in his nose that’s being smeared on the window. Spooky rolls down the window and the boy’s face is in his car now, staring right at him. 

“Mee-maw got a oxy tank. Don’t smoke.” He says. He squints.

“You the scary nigga that look like Scar, right?” 

“Get your snot-nosed face out my car.” Spooky grits out. The boy nods to himself.

“Yeah, it’s you. Mama told me you mean as hell.” He then slides his head out of the window and trots to the trailer parked in front of the food truck.

“Ma, the scary nigga is here!” he shouts into the trailer. Spooky closes his eyes tightly and counts to five.

~~~~

“Thank you so much for this, Spooky. And I’m sorry about my son, Victor. Sometimes he don’t know no better.” His ex-classmate, Gretchen, huffs as she’s tossing the kicking boy over his shoulder. It looks like she hasn’t combed her hair either; her once shiny and bouncy curls are a tangled mess, coiled around a white scrunchie that has seen better days.

“It’s fine. So, what you need done?” Spooky asks. 

“Well,” Gretchen starts, snatching a piece of clothing off the kitchen table and tossing it at him.

“Wear this.” 

He opens up the piece of clothing and it’s a t-shirt with the words ‘Abuelita’s Chicken & Waffles’ printed in vintage font. 

“I already prepped and seasoned the meat. All you got to do is cook it, chop it up, and serve. I made the menus, Abuelita wrote her recipes by hand but I laminated them and put them here,” She points to a fuzzy pink binder. 

“I got to take Victor over to his dad’s house. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Thank you so much, homie. You a real one!” She says, before shutting the door with a sharp bang. The photo of a potted plant clatters to the floor.

It’s going to be a long day.

~~~~

**_3 hours before Cocoachella_ **

Spooky is sweating, his black shirt clinging to his body like second skin. He’s chopping, stirring, baking, frying, and tasting fifteen things at once while Gretchen, who was supposed to be back in a ‘couple of hours’ is nowhere to be found. He’s stuck in this cramped food truck while Gretchen’s grandmother, Mee-Maw, is sitting on the front porch of the trailer, watching telenovelas from a portable television. 

After finishing his first round of prep, he turns the eyes off and checks his phone. It’s a text message from Cuchillo. 

Ice slithers down his back.

“Call me.” The text message reads. 

Inhaling sharply, he calls the number.

After it rings five times, Cuchillo answers.

“Roscoe’s. Five minutes.”

It hangs up. 

Spooky takes deep breaths and snatches his keys. He’s about to get in the car when he notices Mee-Maw, sitting by her lonesome, and he punches the door. 

“Fuck.”

~~~

“I wanted to talk about your loyalty to the Santos and all you’ve done for them. You’ve done more in such a short time than most of the OG’s put together. I respect that. I appreciate that. However,” 

Cuchillo nods to one of the men and they leave, giving Spooky and Cuchillo privacy.

“You’ve been keeping secrets from me.” 

“What secrets, Cuchillo?”

“Your girlfriend, for one. Issa Dee, right? Worked for a nonprofit We Got Y’all for five years?” Cuchillo digs into his pocket and pulls out a photo of Issa. Her smiling face makes Spooky swallow thickly. 

“I got eyes and ears everywhere. I’ve been trying to figure out why you never brought her around me. If you willing to _stomp out your own_ for her, surely inviting her to my crib would be the next course of action. Que pasa? Jefe ain’t good enough for your little Oreo?”

“Issa is far removed from our world and she’s a civilian, sir. Getting her involved would be a liability—”

“—Is what they say about black girls true? The blacker the berry…the sweeter the juice? She got you hiding her from me so I _know_ her pussy must be magic.” 

Spooky keeps his breathing even.

“She’s innocent, Cuchillo. She doesn’t know shit and she doesn’t want to know shit. She’s not a threat and you ain’t got to worry about her—”

“—I’m far from worried about her. If you can hide her from me, for this long, who’s to say you’re hiding other shit from me? If you got some shit to get off your chest, do it now. You’re my prized lieutenant, and I’ll give you the respect I wouldn’t give the foot soldiers who aren’t man enough to admit when they fuck up.”

“I’m loyal to you, and I’ve proven my loyalty multiple times. I don’t have anything other than to request you get Cesar out of the Santos.”

“Explain”

“Cesar isn’t cut out for the Santos lifestyle. It’s on me for initiating him in the first place, but he’s not cut out for this life.”

“Getting out of Santos is through death, excommunication, or money.”

“Name your price.” 

“I hope you’re not using the money _I_ give you to carry out—”

“—$500,000. Cash.”

“Where did you get $500,000 so quickly?”

“I’ve been saving up. $500,000 for my brother’s freedom. It’s all I have.”

A pause. 

Cuchillo stares through Spooky with his cold green eyes and the scar that ran through it. For what felt like forever, Cuchillo holds out his hand. 

The two men shake hands.

“I hope you know since this falls on you the deal needs to be sealed in blood.”

The men come back, circling Spooky. He eyes Cuchillo, nods his head, and goes out back, the men falling behind him, cracking their knuckles.

~~~

**_2 hours before Cocoachella_ **

After gaining his consciousness, Spooky coughs out some blood and collects himself. Dragging himself to the front porch, he pulls himself up and limps out of Roscoe’s.

After sliding into the car, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. 

They fucked him up _bad_. 

Turning on the ignition, he drives back to the food truck.

“Spooky, what the fuck—oh, SHIT!” Gretchen shrieks, covering her face with her hands. Spooky takes one step before tripping and crashing to the floor, his eyes getting droopy. 

Everything went black after that.

~~~

**_15 minutes before Cocoachella_ **

Issa paces back and forth, checking her phone. 

No word from Spooky. 

Panic creeps in. 

Is he in jail? Is he hurt? Did he get caught up with some bullshit?

She tucks her phone away when she sees Ruby and Cesar jog towards her.

“Issa, have you seen Spooky?” Cesar asks. 

“No, I haven’t heard from him since this morning. This isn’t like him and we’re about to open in less than fifteen minutes—”

“—Look, Issa. This is your big day. Get through it, and worry about him later. We got to get this shit started.” Ruby interjects, placing the headphones around his neck. 

“You’re right. Maybe he’s busy.” Issa says. She hugs the boys.

“Okay, deep breath, Issa. You got this,” She tells herself.

“Do the rap.” Ruby and Cesar say in unison.

“For the last time, that rap was between me and your bathroom mirror—”

“—Do it.”

Issa sighs.

“Coming with Cocoachella,/Call me MC Wrecka/Bout to bring the high like my name Acapella.”

Ruby and Cesar cheer themselves on, laughing.

“I fucking love you, Issa.” Ruby laughs out, before walking off, chattering to his girlfriend about the security.

As much as she hates to admit it…that rap made her feel better.

~~~

 ** _2 minutes before Cocoachella_**

“I created this event,” Issa says into the microphone, “to not only show little black boys and girls there’s beauty in their backyard, but to create a safe space for unity, peace, and to escape the harsh realities we face every day. If this goes well, we can have Cocoachella all over LA and give us something that’s for us, by us.”

Applause and cheers.

“I’d like to thank the people that’ve helped me along the way. I wouldn’t have done it without y’all. Without further ado,” Issa opens the gate.

“Let’s have fun!”

~~~

 ** _2 hours into Cocoachella_**  
Issa walks through the block party, observing her work. Children are happily playing in the streets, parents from all over are having a good time with drinks in their hands. The atmosphere is even chill; Issa walked through a cloud of blunt smoke and didn’t even flinch. 

She approaches Thug Yoda and his daughter, laughing up a storm with Kelli. She notices Thug Yoda leaning in close to her friend, whispering something in her ear. Before she could connect the dots, Kelli shouts, 

“Nigga, you nasty! I love it!” 

Nala looks traumatized.

Issa sips her drink and slinks right past them undetected. 

She makes her way to the lavender and gold bounce-house, admiring the kids jumping and playing inside.

“They’re perfect at that age,” a voice snaps Issa out of her daze.

She looks to her left. 

It’s a tall man with golden brown skin, around her age, possibly older, with green eyes and loosely curled hair pulled back. He fills out his height with an intimidating frame, his muscle peeking through his black silk shirt and dark blue jeans. Issa peeks down and see snakeskin boots.

Definitely not from here.

He smiles at her, trying to be friendly, but there was this…garish scar, that runs from his right temple to his left jaw, the scar dragging over where his right eye is; it makes Issa uneasy. 

“You got kids?” He asks her, and she got a good whiff of his cologne. Expensive, probably name brand.

Damn it smells good.

“No, but maybe one day.” She replies.

“Got three of my own. Teenagers,” he snorts, “I miss them when they’re bounce-house age. Less expensive.”

Issa politely nods, looking deep into her glass. There’s a drop left, and it’d be rude if she outwardly asked for a refill to escape anymore contact with this man, so she’s stuck in a social limbo, staring into her glass like it’s going to refill itself.

“Don’t be shy,” the man says, grabbing her hand.

“I don’t bite.”

That smile that’s supposed to be disarming does nothing but let the warning bells go off in Issa’s head. 

“I have a boyfriend.” She blurts out. The man pauses, stares at her before letting out a chuckle.

“I know, Issa. Him and I go way back.”

The terror in Issa’s face is palpable. This man knows who she is, and is connected to Spooky. Is he a friend? Someone dangerous? Why is he smiling at her?

“You know who I am?” The man asks her, the lightness of his voice gone. He invades Issa’s personal space, backing her into the bounce-house where oblivious kids are still jumping and playing. 

Time froze; everything went dead silent. All Issa could focus on are a pair of cold, green, eyes, staring right through her.

All of the air is sucked out of her body; she utters out, “am I supposed to know who you are?” 

A pause. 

The man laughs.

“No, that means he kept his mouth shut.”

He backs away. Air is restored and Issa can breathe again. He turns to walk away, but turns on his heel to face her. 

“I like you. You’re _adorable_. I might’ve taken you home and kept you all to myself.” 

He walks off, disappearing into the crowd.

Issa sits on the steps of the bounce-house, feeling violated in every sense of the world.

Whoever that man was, she doesn’t want to know and she’ll be damned before she brings it to Spooky’s attention. 

“Issa, you good?” 

It’s Ruby, shaking her shoulder. For a boy so young, he’s got the worry of an old man.

“Who was that guy? Should I call the #MeToo movement…?”

“He’s one of Spooky’s people.” Issa replies. 

“Him? He must be higher up because there’s no way a man like that could dress like that and be a Santos.”

“He…I can’t help but feel something really bad is about to happen—”

“—What did I say about bad thoughts or bad vibes?”

“Save it after—”

“—Save it after Cocoachella. You goddamn right. You’re going to have another glass—Give me another glass of strawberry spritzer, Jasmine—And you’re going to let this be successful because let’s face it, Freeridge hasn’t had fun like this in a while. Look around you!” 

Ruby waves his hand over.

“Everybody is having a good time. Santos and Prophets are dancing and drinking together. Kids are playing out in the streets. Everybody is enjoying themselves because of you. Think about that.”

Ruby looks over to the distance. 

“Hey, boo!” A girl walks up with Issa’s glass. She throws her arms around Ruby and kisses his cheek.

“They doing the electric slide. Come on!” She tugs Ruby’s sleeve. Issa stands, taking the glass with her. “Before I Let You Go” is playing in the distance.

Following the sound, she catches an interesting sight; Ruby’s black friend, front row, doing the electric slide with Molly and Tiffany between him, smiling and laughing. Andrew is taking video, giving commentary while Lawrence struggles to keep with the rhythm. Ruby and the girl are doing their own version of the electric slide, rocking back and forth to the music.

Issa takes a seat on the curb, admiring the view. 

This is what makes it all worth it.

~~~

Issa is helping with clean-up, checking her phone every so often. 

Nothing from Spooky. Not even a carrier pigeon. 

Cocoachella has been, in all accounts, a success, but it doesn’t take away from the strangeness that surrounded today: Spooky’s missing and one of his associates have creeped her out on a spiritual level. 

It’s not like Spooky to not hit her up; he damn near keeps in contact with her every day, and if he wasn’t going to respond, he’d give a heads up. 

Worry twists itself into knots in her stomach.

Something is amiss.

Something happened to him and she doesn’t know who to turn to. 

“I just want to say I had a phenomenal time at your little block party.” 

Issa stiffens and turns around.

Instead of the creepy man with the scar, it’s a black man wearing business casual attire. His Rolex gleamed in the street lights. 

“Aaron Fitzgerald. CEO of Black Planner. We did the Wakanda Viewing Party last year.” He introduces himself, holding out his hand to shake. Issa shakes, impressed by his stable grip. 

“I was referred to this event by Condola and, I like what I see. It’s a little rough around the edges, but it got a lot of heart and the fact you brought it to my backyard,” he gestures to the apartments, “has not only impressed me, but made you stand out among all the applicants that want to work for me.”

“Thank you…uh, are you offering me…a job?” Issa asks. Aaron chuckles.

“Not yet, but I’d like to work with you and get some more…Cocoachella, across LA. I can show you what I know and land you the right connections. So…I’d consider it an…internship. A _paid_ internship.” 

Music to Issa’s ears.

“Here’s my card.” Aaron plucks a card from his wallet and hands it to her.

“Let’s have lunch.” He winks at her and walks to his car.

She observes the card. Gold-trim with a matte black finish.

Professional. 

Tucking the card into her wallet, she makes her way to the car when her phone starts ringing. 

Unknown Number.

She lets it ring and heads home. 

~~~

She’s opening her front door when that sinking feeling comes back. 

Her phone rings again. 

She answers this time. 

“Are you Issa?” A woman’s voice asks.

“Yes.” Issa answers.

“Look, you may not know me, and don’t take it the wrong way, but I’m Gretchen Sandoval. I’m with Spooky right now. He just gained consciousness and he kept telling me to call you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Spooky got jumped. You—look, I’m gonna text you the address. You just need to come get him. My sister can only do so much, but he’s in bad shape. He needs to go to a _hospital_ hospital.”

“Woah, wait…what…”

The woman on the other line hung up. 

An address pops up on her screen and that sinking feeling comes back.

It’s a clinic on the roughest part of town.

She couldn’t get in her car fast enough.

~~~

“Issa, you need to calm down. Don’t make me have to defend you in court when you get pulled over for reckless driving!” Molly’s voice blares through the car. Issa’s running red lights, stop signs, almost ran over a jaywalking pedestrian, speeding down the streets to Freeridge.

“Molly…Spooky got jumped. The way that woman was talking, whoever did it fucked him up and fucked him up bad. He gained consciousness and his first thought was to call me.” Issa replies, swerving through traffic. 

She parks in front of the Santa Maria clinic. Taking the safety precautions, she jogs to the entrance and bangs on the screen door.

The rest is a blur; Issa is greeted by the woman on the phone and the two speed past screaming patients, ignore the smell of filth and death, and she finds herself face to face with Spooky, lying in the hospital bed, hooked up to tubes. 

He’s so still it makes Issa unnerved; she had to focus in to make sure he’s still breathing.

A black woman with slick curls and a doctors’ robe sits across from Spooky. She turns to Issa and guides her to a chair.

“Oscar Marcello Diaz, Age 25, birthday October 25th, 1993. Blood Type O,” The woman dictates to her recorder. 

“Patient has suffered internal hemorrhaging, blunt force trauma to the abdominal cavity, damage to the liver and kidneys because of blunt force trauma. Needs CT Scan for possible injury to the brain as well as vital organs. Left arm broken in six places and possible hairline fracture to the jaw, confirmed by X-Ray. Stabilized patient with blood transfusion, however patient needs to be transferred to St. Catherine’s for deeper diagnosis and treatment. This is Dr. Cheryl Sandoval, signing out.”

The woman tucks her recorder to her pocket. 

“Ms. Issa, I’m Dr. Cheryl Sandoval, Oscar’s primary care physician, but you can call me Dr. Sandoval. I’m going to ask you some questions and you promise to be as honest as you can with me, okay?” She says. Issa nods.

“Is Oscar gang affiliated? Because his injuries are conducive to a multiple person assault. AKA a jumping. AKA some police officers asking questions when the hospital makes the same deductions as me and calls the authorities.”

“He’s a Santos.” Issa replies, burying her head in her hands.

“I figured from that tacky tattoo on his neck, but hey, maybe he’s also a devout Catholic.” Dr. Sandoval deadpans. She sucks her teeth.

“You know, Oscar. This all could’ve been avoided had you’ve been completely honest with me about your extracurricular activities.” She says to Spooky’s sleeping body. 

“Okay, so this is going to get tricky. If he comes in, there’s a chance cops are going to sniff him out and ding him on some charge if he won’t give information they could use. Santos have been high on the cops’ radar these days.”

“So, what am I supposed to do?” Issa asks. 

“You could…take him to the hospital and lie about his injuries, or you could take him to my homie Albino Lionel. He don’t ask no questions and he’s the best of the best, given he lost his license.”

“Why did he lose his license?”

“He snorted coke off a patient’s body during surgery. The patient found coke residue in her lower intestine and sued.” 

“Oh my fucking god…”

“Why you think he got the nickname Albino Lionel? Nigga is always covered in snow.”

“Okay! Hospital it is.” 

“Alright. I’ll send the referral and let them take Oscar themselves. They’re going to do the best they can and I guarantee you he’s in good hands. It looks horrible, but he’s not going to die. But, I will tell you, he’s in a world of pain once those pain meds wear off. They fucked him up bad.”

~~~~

**Three Weeks Later**

Spooky sits on the couch, struggling to change the channel with his good arm. His arm is going to be in a cast for at least three more weeks, which puts a damper on his productivity. His tasks have been delegated to his right-hand man Miguel, who often reports back to him and asks for his consent before doing things on his behalf. 

In a way, this has been both a vacation and a punishment; he gets to do nothing, but in the moment he gets to relax, he’s antsy. He can’t cook, clean, or jack off. He just recently learned how to properly wash himself with one arm without Issa’s help.

She often asks about what happened but he’s tight-lipped; she doesn’t need to get any more involved than she needs to. Not to mention, his memory is a little foggy these days. He remembered fighting off three men twice his size as best he could, staggering to his car, driving to Gretchen’s trailer, and waking up in a hospital with Issa passed out over his lap and Cesar snoring in the chair. 

Not much happened after that; after the multiple surgeries and procedures, his hospital bill almost ate up the rest of his inheritance. He gave Cuchillo a large portion of his money for Cesar’s freedom and wound up spending almost the rest of it in hospital bills.

His family home, his vacation house, his honeymoon, all gone in one day. $147,000 to his name.

Life’s a bitch.

~~~~

**August**

“Alright, let’s get this cast off.”

Loud whirring noises fill Spooky’s ears and in seconds, he feels cool air touch his arm. 

“Alright, you’re all set, Mr. Diaz. Next time wear a protective gear when you’re skateboarding.” The elderly physician chides. Biting the urge to roll his eyes, he thanks her and heads out of the hospital, Issa waiting for him. 

“Skateboarding.” He deadpans. Issa shrugs her shoulders.

“It was the best I could do at the time. It was either that or you might…get cocaine in your bone marrow or something.”

“I thought Albino Lionel went to rehab…y’know what, nevermind. I’m glad this shit is over with. It’s back to work.”

“About that,” Issa begins as they buckle in.

“Why would you want to keep working for someone who was more than eager to beat the shit out of you?”

“Because I’m not trying to wind up dead, Issa.”

“But you could’ve been killed…look, all I’m saying is that man is dangerous.”

“No shit.”

“Well…if I tell you this can you promise not to get upset?”

“What is it?”

“I volunteered you for a cooking class.”

“Goddammit, Issa…”

“Hear me out. You’ve been cooped up in the house, and you’re talented as fuck. I think being around a different environment could benefit you.”

“The fuck do I look like wearing aprons and shit—”

“—let’s not forget you picked out that Nicki Minaj Anaconda apron.”

“…”

“Well?”

“Fuck you.”

~~~

Spooky feels out of place.

He’s in Brentwood of all places, surrounded by rich suburban moms who have nothing better to do, wearing an apron.

The instructor is rattling off about this recipe he could do in his sleep; orange scones. He’s instead texting his foot soldiers the entire session, doing nothing to acknowledge the instructor.

“Tomas.” 

His ear pricks up at his alias.

The instructor, clearly agitated, crosses her arms. 

“Since you have more important things, would you like to show the class how to make an orange scone?” 

The women snicker. 

Spooky sends the last text, crams his phone in his back pocket, and walks to the front. 

Like clockwork, he mixes and measures his ingredients before putting it into the oven, much to the amazement of the class. Scones, or his scones, are a favorite of Molly’s. He remembered having to block Molly’s number because she kept badgering him to bake her a dozen for her morning routines. He’d experiment with a variety of flavors until his signature five are: Raspberry Chocolate, Orange Spice, Blueberry, Lemon, and Issa’s all-time favorite, Apple Crumble. 

This is nothing to him, but him working the ingredients in his hands feels like home to him. He’s in his element; he’s back at his kitchen, whipping up breakfast pastries for Cesar to share with his friends. 

The streets may own him, but he owns this. This is all him.

Immediately the room is filled with the smell of tart sweetness; his scones are ready. He pulls them out and lets them cool. 

Silence. 

“Well?” He goads the class, waving to the baked goods.

“Dig in.”

~~~~

“How’s cooking class?” Issa asks when Spooky walks in. Spooky takes off his apron, hangs it, and says as he walks to the shower,

“I got a job.”


End file.
